Dirty Laundry
by Knilb17
Summary: What do you do when your whole life seems to be caught in a groove? Meet your soulmate in a laundry mat.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Dirty Laundry Author: Kaitlyn Rating: R Summary: AU- Ross/Rachel- What do you do when your whole life seems to be caught in a groove? Meet your soul mate in a laundry mat.  
  
Just to set the stage on this one, Ross is 25 and has just finished grad school. Rachel, in continuity with the show, is a year younger than him, finished college almost 3 years previously and is working as a paid intern at Prada.  
  
They both live a few blocks away from each other in the Village but with roommates that I created. There will be illusions to Monica, as she IS still Ross's sister and did go to high school with Rachel, but they are no longer close friends and she will not be integral to the story. The other 3 don't exist. Sorry folks, but I feel like I'd neglect them if I did include them.  
  
I'm admitting it now, as lame as it is, that the idea for this piece DID spring from watching "40 Days And 40 Nights" the other day. So sue me. :-)  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"I'm going out," she informed from the top of the stairs, mucking through her purse for her lipstick.  
  
"Okay," Rachel noted, looking up from the living room at the catwalk that her roommate was standing on. She rolled her eyes. That's all Erica ever did- go out. She was always either "going out" or was, in fact, already out, and it never ceased to amaze Rachel that Erica could leave at 1 am and come back at 6 with 10 new phone numbers and a brand new pair of boots. Once, she was even donning a new jacket. What clothing stores are open at fucking 1 in the morning?  
  
"You know," Erica suggested, sauntering down the stairs in her leather mini skirt and hot pink sweater. "You COULD always get off your ass and come with me." She smiled smugly for emphasis. Rachel smiled back with an equal amount of phoniness.  
  
"And YOU could always show up to work on time."  
  
"Ah, but I don't," Erica quipped, winking and walking to the couch where Rachel was sitting. She leaned over and kissed her roommate's head. "I get laid." She patted Rachel's hair quickly and turned on her heels to leave. "I'll be back before you leave for work. Night, baby doll!" With that, she was gone.  
  
"Oy," Rachel exclaimed exasperatedly, settling more comfortably in on the white comfy couch. She closed the laptop that was resting in her lap, removed her reading glasses and sighed deeply. Closing her eyes, she shook her head and bartered aloud with herself. "Go with her next time, idiot."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"Don't make plans for tonight!" he yelled, slamming the front door behind him. He dropped the Army green canvas messenger bag he had slung over his shoulder by the coat rack and spring briskly to the kitchen table where his roommate was sitting.  
  
"What?" Ross asked through a full mouth of Frosted Flakes.  
  
"Remember those two hot Australian chicks we met in White Plains? They're in town for one night. They want to meet us!" Carver shouted excitedly with a facial expression that told Ross even he couldn't believe what he was saying.  
  
"Come again?" Ross asked, honestly having no recollection of any hot White Plains Australian chicks. Carver rolled his eyes exasperatedly, shaking Ross by the shoulders.  
  
"Dude, if you have EVER needed to come out with me, the time is now! I told them we'd meet them tonight for drinks. You CANNOT bail on me!" Ross put down his spoon and got up to wash out his bowl, the story still not having struck any memory or interest in him at all.  
  
"Why not? If I don't go, you get both of them," he reasoned. Carver stopped to seriously consider this but then declined.  
  
"No, man, come on! You have to! They'll be insulted if you don't show up. You don't want to insult the hot Australians, now, do you?"  
  
"Look," Ross stated, turning from the sink to face his overly exuberant roommate. "I'm sure these girls are hot and I'm SURE they are willing and ready to give you some, but I've got things to do tonight." With that, he brushed passed him and headed for the 5 stairs of their flat that lead up to the living room and bedrooms.  
  
"What!?" Carver exclaimed in disbelief, running after Ross and stepping in front of him. "What do you POSSIBLY have to do tonight that's more important than getting some hot Australian ass? Build a model airplane? Brush off some of your fossils? Do your laundry?" With the last suggestion, Ross touched his nose to signify a correct answer.  
  
"Bingo. Gotta keep it clean," he stated simply, brushing past him again.  
  
"Ross!" Carver yelled, stopping Ross and causing him to turn back, frustrated. "Come on, dude. You're 25 and still doing your laundry on Friday night. You know, I thought Carol dumping you would be a good thing- give you a chance to start over. You're just throwing it all away, man."  
  
Carol. There hadn't been a mention of her in months. Carol had been Ross' first love and last girlfriend. They'd met their first year in college and started dating immediately. After a year, there were serious talks about getting engaged. All of Ross' friends told him he was crazy, of course- he was 19 and had his whole life ahead of him. More importantly, though, he had every girl on this side of Manhattan to experience. After 5 years, she'd thrown it all away, announcing her lesbianism and moving directly in with her lover, Susan. That's when Carver had moved in, and had been living there for almost a year.  
  
Carver. The poster boy for horny, misguided collegiate boys everywhere. Ross was sure there wasn't one decision or thought that floated through his mind that wasn't in some way directed or influenced by his penis. Girls. If the average male thought about girls and sex once every seven seconds, Carver thought about them for more seconds that the average person spends alive. His room was littered with porn magazines and videos. Since he'd moved in with Ross 9 months ago, he'd had over a hundred girls up to the apartment.  
  
Ross sat down at his laptop to check his mail before he left.  
  
"You've got 3 unread message," the robotic woman's voice announced.  
  
"Junk, spam...Carol."  
  
Ross,  
  
Hi. I know we haven't really had a chance to talk since I moved out. Things have been pretty crazy- at least for me. I tried calling a few times but realized I had no idea what I would say. You have to know I didn't plan this. I never knew, so you couldn't have known. Don't waste any more time wondering if it was something you did or if you could have prevented it. I know that's what you've been thinking, but it wasn't and you couldn't have. You're a wonderful person, Ross, and I still love you so much. That hasn't changed. If you don't want to talk to me ever again, I'll understand. Thank you for everything.  
  
Love, Carol  
  
He exhaled deeply, immediately closing out his inbox after reading it and shutting his laptop. He thumbed his fingers against the table nervously and tapped his foot. Write back? Call? Think about it later.  
  
He grabbed his laundry bag and keys and headed out the door.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
The streets of the Village were relatively quiet that evening, with a cool breeze blowing and orange, red and yellow leaves falling from the trees that lined the streets. The road was sparsely populated with cars and kids were playing on their front stoops. All in all, it was a time to be outside.  
  
Ross strolled along briskly, his laundry bag slung over his shoulder and his earphones covering his ears. The sounds of a random compilation of '20s jazz artists rang out through the speakers and created a melodious beat for him to walk to.  
  
The storefront of the generic Laundromat was drab looking, having been long faded by the elements and in bad need of a paint job and new electrical circuiting. The lights on the inside were dismal, some flickering to their inevitable deaths and some already sent to the grave. The machines rumbled and tumbled in unison, drowning out the lonesome elevator music that was being coughed from the speakers. Lonesome. That was exactly what the institution was, in its entirety, from the aged man sleeping behind the front desk to the water stains on the ceiling in the back corners. Ross was rather used to it, though. He spent a few hours there once a week, catching up on work on his laptop, listening to music and watching the world and its inhabitants pass by.  
  
For some reason, he was drawn to it. And, for some reason, more so on this day than usual.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
For the 3rd Friday night in a row, Rachel was watching her 'delicates' spin around inside an avocado green drier from the early 70's, while the rest of New York City's 20's-something population was dancing the night away to generic techno beats and ecstasy at underground clubs and hooking up with mysterious strangers in dimly lit bars. She was 24, single, beautiful and already simi-successful. Yet, here she was, counting down the number of seconds until she had to switch her darks over to the drier and remove the underwear. Yippie-Yeye-Fucking-Kiyay.  
  
She crossed her legs in the plastic chair she was sitting in and opened her laptop. Sometimes she felt like this thing was as much a part of her as her own sanity. Maybe more. She looked down at what she was wearing. Ripped, faded jeans and a plain white shirt. Shocker. Her hair was thrown up in a messy bun and her reading glasses her perched on the edge of her nose. I look like a fucking charity case, she thought. None of the passers by or co-inhabitants of the Laundromat would ever guess that this awkward-looking Long Island girl actually worked for one of the biggest, most high profile fashion agencies in the world.  
  
Why couldn't she just get it together? Was it really so hard to put on some make-up, fix her hair up, buy a new skirt and some "come get me" pumps and hit the town on the weekend? Was it really so hard to even HAVE a weekend? Was this what her life had become only 3 years removed from college? Most people didn't experience such incessant tediousness until at least one divorce, one vice, and one sports car away from her. Her life was caught in this groove-- this seemingly irrevocable sedation. She hadn't been truly intrigued by anything since her last boyfriend, and that was over a year ago.  
  
"This seat taken?"  
  
Her introspection session was interrupted by a velvety, masculine voice. She looked up into the deepest, darkest eyes she'd ever seen. Her breath literally left her lungs for a few seconds. Once she got it back, she had to ask him to repeat what he'd said.  
  
"I'm sorry, what?"  
  
"Are you using this chair?" he restated, pointing to the orange one sitting beside hers.  
  
"Oh, no, go ahead," she insisted, waving her hand unflappably at it and halfway smiling. He smiled back and nodded.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
He sat his bag down, plopping himself beside it and sighing deeply as he removed a stack of mail from his coat pocket. He shuffled through it, waiting for someone to vacate a machine. As he shuffled, however, he cocked his head sideways and gazed peripherally at the girl who'd waved her hand so detachedly. The way she sat so stilly, almost oblivious to the world around her or its perception or acceptance of her, was unique to a girl so beautiful. He'd never seen a girl as pretty as her seem so unaware of herself. In this city, you didn't get many woman like that.  
  
Dually, Rachel was keeping an eye on this tall, soft-spoken boy who'd taken up residence beside her. The first thing she'd noticed about him, besides his voice, was the intensity of his eyes. She'd literally gotten lost inside them and been rendered breathless in a matter of seconds. After keeping a shallow, stealth watch for a few more minutes, she'd taken in things as meticulous as the way his clothes clung to his body and the way he slouched in his chair as he flipped through his stack of white envelopes. He was wearing mostly dark, heavy clothes-- a navy blue sweater with an army green jacket and dark jeans. His canvas laundry bag was almost dwarfing to match the rest of him. Something about him disallowed her to strip her glance from him. He was interesting in the way that only a newly discovered stranger could be, and she watched him as he remained oblivious to her glance.  
  
"I think that machine back there is free," she found herself saying, for no particular reason. The machine was free, though, and if that's what he was waiting for, she was at least being of some assistance. This caused him to look over at her; at first in confusion but then with almost an approving eye. He nodded and smiled.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
He had a five o-clock shadow, she noticed. Normally, this was unattractive to her on men. It looked sloppy and unclean. For some reason, though, on this man, it was unbelievably sexy.  
  
She watched as he retrieved a massive pile of white clothes from his bag and waltzed to the back of the store. His strides were big and domineering, like he could take control of any situation just by imposing his presence upon it. Rachel found herself getting sudden waves of chills. Did someone open a window? It was several pregnant minutes before he reclaimed his position in the chair two down from her. For some reason, she felt comforted by his return.  
  
"Your machine's done," he observed, nodding towards the dryer directly in front of her.  
  
"Oh, yeah, thanks." Wow, what an idiot. You were so busy simi-stalking this man that you forgot about your laundry, she thought. She rolled her eyes and mentally kicked herself in the ass for being so unsmooth. Unsmooth? Why was she suddenly so interested in being smooth?  
  
When she was done switching clothes from one machine to the other, she dropped the pile of her underwear onto the few chairs beside her and began folding them into her basket. Suddenly, she became very aware of the fact that this was her underwear that was sitting out in the open. She blushed a bit. He noticed.  
  
"They look nice," she heard him almost whisper, as if he were talking to himself. This alarmed her and caused her to whip her head to the side and shoot him an unsure look.  
  
"Huh?" she asked. He looked up from the magazine he was holding.  
  
"What? Oh, just the couple in this picture," he answered, pointing to a photo of a bride and groom. "They look nice, don't you think?"  
  
Realizing the mistake she'd made, she blushed even more. All she could afford was a simple nod and an awkward, confused "oh...yeah" before she turned her attention back to her folding. She couldn't help but smile a little. Whether it was at her own silliness, his, or a combination of the two, she was unsure of.  
  
Meanwhile, it was all Ross could do to stifle his chuckle. He was having fun playing with this girl. There was something in her unadulterated girlishness-- the nature of her femininity-- that captivated him and left him unable to leave her alone. He could tell she was completely disillusioned about how pretty she actually was, and that made her all the more adorable. She almost reminded him of his little sister, only in a more provocative, sexual way.  
  
She was sexy. There was no getting around that. Any girl who could look that way and provoke those feelings from him that instantaneously while sitting glued to a laptop in a Laundromat in jeans and a t-shirt had to be a particularly devastating kind of sexy, and she was. He liked the way a few thin pieces of golden hair fell around her face from her loose bun. It made her seem more real. He was surprised at himself when thoughts of how glad he was that he hadn't joined Carver and the two Australians began flooding his mind. Glancing over at the basket she was currently placing her underwear inside, he noticed a name scribbled in Sharpie on the rim.  
  
Rachel K Green.  
  
So the girl had a name. Something occurred to him impulsively, and he decided to throw caution to the wind and go for it. He wasn't sure if he'd regret it later or not.  
  
"So, uh, do you have a name?" He didn't know why he asked, really. Maybe just to keep the conversation going. Maybe to see if she'd give him a fake one. This solicited a smile from her. She did not even look up from her folding.  
  
"Unless that name you just read off my basket is someone else's," she replied. He chuckled and rolled his magazine up in his hands nervously.  
  
"Ah, touche." He smiled and waited for her to turn her head and look at him. When she did, their eyes locked for the second time.  
  
"Your machine's done," she quipped, nodding her head towards the back and smiling knowingly. Yes. The ball was in her court again. Two could play at this game. She considered that she hadn't known where all that had come from, as she watched him walk away to retrieve his clothes. She hadn't had the strength for that caliber of conversational exchange in months. Maybe I'd better quit while I'm ahead, she thought.  
  
When Ross returned from the back, he noticed that the pretty girl was gone, as were her basket and laptop. The dryer and machine she'd been using were empty. On his seat, however, was a tiny slip of white paper. He picked it up and unfolded it, reading the words that were written in black ink.  
  
Hope the seat's not taken next time, either. "Rachel K Green"  
  
"Next time," Ross read allowed again. He smiled and tucked the piece of paper into his jacket.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO End Chapter 1. Continued in Chapter 2. 


	2. Chapter 2

I've decided I'm going to keep with this one for a while and let Madison Avenue air out, because people seem to be responding to this one more positively.  
  
This chapter will be fairly short and mostly for the sake of exposition. Chapter 3 will come quickly, though, and it will be a very important, interesting one.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Ross hummed along to the jazz music as he walked the few blocks back to his apartment. The smile still hadn't subsided from his face and his thoughts felt so lucid and serene, like all the tension he'd been feeling earlier had just shed itself from his body. There was an extra bounce in his step that he couldn't explain or control, but he had never felt so awake or grateful. He wasn't even sure what he felt so grateful FOR, but he wasn't questioning it.  
  
He couldn't take his mind off of her.  
  
Rachel. The name fit her, in some inextricable way, and it made his heart skip a beat each time he muttered it beneath his breath. Just saying it or thinking of her face made him slightly dizzy. No girl-- not even Carol-- had ever left him this giddy. As soon as he'd seen her, he'd known there was something special about her. She was so unlike any other girl he'd ever met-- so calm and unaware of herself. So adorable and sexy, but obviously so reluctant to accept it. This unexplainable feeling of protectiveness had shot through his entire body the first time their eyes had locked-- like he was already responsible for taking care of her, in some way. He didn't know what this was, but it was enveloping his whole being, and it was a higher high than any alcohol or drug he'd ever experienced had provided.  
  
He unlocked the door to his flat and slipped inside without turning on the light. He proceeded up the few stairs to the living room landing and back to his room, dropping the bag of clean clothes by his bed before collapsing his weight down onto the springy mattress. He was literally drunk with whatever this emotion was. He could feel it absorbing itself into his skin-- his organs and blood-- and intoxicating him. His head spun as images of her flooded his mind. He was glad Carver wasn't home. He wouldn't have been able to take the unavoidable, incessant questioning that would have undoubtedly taken place. That would have made him accountable for having to describe exactly what it was about this girl that had him so wound up, and that would was impossible to do.  
  
He stripped down to his boxers and turned on the shower, padding out to the living room while he waited for the water to get hot. Carefully, he opened the previously abandoned laptop sitting on the coffee table and clicked on the 'mail' icon. After reading over Carol's message again, he initially hesitated  
  
...then pressed delete.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he smiled to himself and nodded. It was time to move on. No more avoiding possible pitfalls. No more running and hiding from potential rejection or heartbreak. No more 'playing it safe' at the expensive of living his life. He was determined to turn over a new leaf, now. He was in his mid 20's-- the prime of life-- and he wasn't going to miss it. The rut was over.  
  
He shut the laptop and retreated back through his room into his bathroom, removing his boxers and sliding into the shower. As the water fell around him and a palpable steam filled the air, he closed his eyes and imagined what it would be like to touch this girl. What were the most intimate things about her? What did her skin feel like? Did she like controlling men or subservient ones? Did she fidget when she was nervous? What did she smell like in the morning after sex? He found himself yearning to know all of these things, and he didn't even know what the "K" in her middle name stood for, yet.  
  
He dried himself off, selected a clean pair of boxers and was asleep before his head hit the pillow. His last thoughts were of the way her hair had fallen in front of her eyes when she'd giggled.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Rachel was surprised when she flicked on the light to find Erica asleep on the sofa. She walked over and tapped her shoulder.  
  
"Hey, what are you doing here?"  
  
"Huh?" Erica asked, lifting her head in an obvious haze. Rachel rolled her eyes and walked over to the kitchen sink to get some water for her drunk roommate.  
  
"Jesus, Erica, it's only like 9. Why are you home and why are you already drunk?" She handed her the glass and sat beside her on the couch.  
  
"Well," she began, setting the water down on the table, "I think it's safe to say that I've dated all the worthwhile guys in Manhattan."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"The asshole got me drunk and when I wouldn't have sex with him, he just dropped me back off here."  
  
"Oh my God!" Rachel exclaimed, sounding appalled. "You wouldn't have sex with him?"  
  
"Funny, funny," Erica stated sardonically, throwing a pillow at Rachel. "Anyway, here I am. What happened to you tonight?"  
  
"What do you mean?" Rachel asked defensively, getting up to put the glass away and to pick up her laundry bag. "I did my laundry. No biggie."  
  
"You totally met a guy," Erica predicted, smiling widely. "You met, like, the hottest, dreamiest guy ever and you're holding out on me. Bitch," she lovingly teased.  
  
"Oh my God, HOW do you do that?" Rachel asked, joining her again on the couch. She folded her legs up underneath her in the classic "girl chat" position and smiled the widest, toothiest smile of her life. She'd been concealing it ever since shed' walked in, but she just couldn't do it anymore.  
  
"Okay, so spill," Erica demanded. "Did you guys, like, do it against the back row of machines?" she asked, sticking her pierced tongue out and grinning.  
  
"No!" Rachel insisted, blushing a bit. "It..." she searched for the right words, looking down at her lap. "It wasn't like that."  
  
"Rachel, you're such a nerd!" Erica insisted, rolling her eyes. "I mean, I love you, but if you don't get rid of all these ideas about 'romance' and just fuck a guy every now and then, you're going to lose your mind."  
  
"As much as I appreciate that beautiful advice," Rachel quipped, "I think I can handle this on my own."  
  
"Fine," she surrendered. "Tell me about him, then."  
  
"He's..." Rachel was already smiling. She shook her head, unable to believe how devastatingly handsome and intriguing this man was. "God, he's just like the most adorable, beautiful guy I've ever seen!" she screeched, giving up any sense of objectivity she might have had left to complete girlishness.  
  
"Really? Does he have a brother?"  
  
"I don't think he's your type," Rachel insisted, shaking her head.  
  
"Why not?" Erica asked in mock offense, placing a hand on her chest. "Who says I even HAVE a type?"  
  
"Well, let's see. I talked to him for over 2 minutes and he didn't stare at my breasts or try to pick me up..." she trailed off.  
  
"Prude," Erica teased.  
  
"But Erica, he just makes me so...ugh, I DON'T KNOW!" she admitted, restlessly bounding from the couch. "I couldn't take my eyes off of him! He's got this voice...and these hands...and his EYES! God, Erica, his eyes floored me!"  
  
"Alright, Camper, take it easy!" Erica teasingly laughed.  
  
"Those few minutes with him were more exciting than any relationship I've ever had," Rachel admitted, calming down a bit.  
  
"Well, that's not saying much," Erica joked, slowly getting up from the couch.  
  
"Erica," Rachel stated flatly, grabbing her roommate's hand and looking at her seriously. "What am I doing?"  
  
"You're not 'doing' anything, Sweety," she assured her, understanding that her friend had problems in his area. "You met a guy-- from the sound of it, an amazing guy-- and you're into him. There's nothing wrong with that, babe," she eased. Rachel nodded and smiled, thanking her silently for her help.  
  
"I know...God, you're right. I'm so messed up," Rachel whined, putting her face to her hands.  
  
"Hey, you're not messed up. You just don't like taking chances. Considering that you almost married Barry, that's not surprising," Erica joked, earning a smile and a small nod from Rachel. "If you don't mind taking advice from a lunatic like me, though? Don't lose this one. He sounds like something special." Rachel nodded and hugged her friend.  
  
"Thanks. I'm think I'm going to go to bed."  
  
"Bed!? It's 9:30! God, I sure hope this guy can convince you to move your bedtime past that of an 8-year-old!"  
  
"He was doing his laundry on a Friday night, too," Rachel reminded her, right before she headed up the flight of stairs to her bedroom.  
  
"Lord, save us all," Erica mumbled under her breath.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Rachel closed the door to her room without turning on the light. She disrobed immediately and rummaged around her dresser in the dark for a t-shirt and pair of boxers. She didn't bother hopping into the shower before crawling into bed and pulling the blankets up around her. She laid on her side and stared out of the high-rise window. Rain trickled down the glass, collecting and magnifying light from the city below. She considered how big New York was and how small she and her life were, in comparing.  
  
She turned over and closed her eyes, clearing her mind of everything but a single image: him. She still didn't even have any idea of what his name was. He looked familiar, but in an impossibly detached way, like she'd only briefly known him through the distorted haze of a dream of fairy tale. The connection she felt to him scared her, though. The fire he'd lit within her and the sirens that had seemingly gone off in her head at the sound of his voice were frighteningly intense. He made her feel so...alive. If she were being honest with herself, se hadn't felt that way in quite some time. Maybe a year. Maybe more.  
  
This boy had serious potential to unravel her-- unthread her at the seams. Just the shifting of his muscles when he'd walked and the poise of his stature when he stood had staggered her. As badly as she wanted to dismiss it as a crush-- a desperate, contrived attempts at some distraction-- she knew it was more. He meant more. She fell asleep with a smile across her face.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
End Chapter 2. Continued in Chapter 3. 


	3. Chapter 3

This chapter's the first "seriously" R-rated one. The former ones have been strictly for language, whereas this one's for adult content. Not that you're going to listen to me (because I wouldn't even listen to me), but this is the most explicit of any "sex scene" I've ever written. You've been warned.  
  
Also, just because I feel that I'm obligated to mention this, the sex in this chapter is unprotected. In real life, this is seriously dangerous, immature, and stupid. For the sake of this fictional story, however, I've chosen to take that path. The real life repercussions are much more serious than the nonexistent ones in this story.  
  
I know Ross and Rachel might have known each other in high school. I've alluded to it and it'll be discussed in a later chapter. I'm getting to it. Hold your horses.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Ross changed his clothes for the second time into a "more casual" pair of jeans and a navy blue Polo shirt. He gelled it into place, starred at it for a good minute...and then combed it forward messily with his fingers. He braced himself against his dresser and took a deep breath.  
  
"Get ahold of yourself, man. She's not even going to be there."  
  
He was going back to the laundry mat for the first time since his encounter last week. He knew it was unrealistic to just expect her to be there, but it was the same time and the same day, so just maybe he'd get lucky...  
  
"Dude, what the fuck's that smell?" Carver asked, appearing in the doorway with an open box of Captain Crunch in his hand and wiping at the air in front of him.  
  
"It's cologne," Ross informed, adjusting his collar and rolling his eyes. "You should try it sometime."  
  
"You don't still have your panties in a twist over that chick, do you?" his roommate asked pryingly.  
  
"She's not just some chick, Carver," Ross insisted, checking the mirror one last time before grabbing his bag from the bed and moving past his friend in the doorway. "She's...different," he elaborated, pushing past him. Carver followed in pursuit.  
  
"Fine, whatever, she's special. If she's there, though, and you don't get any action, I'm going to stop denying to people that Carol really WAS the gay one."  
  
Ross was surprised that his roommate's distasteful comment hadn't offended him more. For some reason, it just rolled off his back as if he hadn't heard it.  
  
"You're disgusting," Ross called over his shoulder before disappearing from the apartment.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"Rachel, get out of the bathroom! I have to crimp my hair!" Erica called, pounding on the wooden door exasperatedly.  
  
"In a minute!" she screamed back, smoothing her shirt over her stomach and brushing a few strands of hair into place. She closed her eyes and silently berated herself for being so lame as to actually think he'd be there again. Her note had probably freaked him out thoroughly enough that he'd switched laundry mats entirely. On the off chance that he was there, though, she had to make an effort to look at least SOMEWHAT presentable (unlike last week). She'd picked out a pair of faded jeans and a black tank top. It wasn't anything special, but with her hair down and a few strategically placed beaded necklaces, she looked pretty hot, if she did say so herself. She took a deep breath and shook her head, regaining control before exiting the bathroom.  
  
"Go nuts," she suggested, as she sauntered past Erica into the living room to grab her things. Erica stood dumbfounded by the bathroom, her mouth agape.  
  
"You slut! You're totally trying to pick this guy up!" she accused, smiling broadly. Rachel grinned to herself and replied in mock innocence.  
  
"Erica, I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm just going to do my laundry..."  
  
"Something tell me that's not all you're going to be doing," she replied jokingly, smiling deviously before she slipped into the bathroom, curling iron in hand. Rachel shook her head.  
  
"I wish."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Rachel leaned over and pulled the soaked load from the machine to toss it into the drier. She sighed in discontent as she scanned the room for the 5th time in 5 minutes and then checked her watch. It was only 5 minutes past the time she'd arrived last week and she was already panicking. She noticed a guy about her age sitting in the corner. He smiled. She nodded and forced a grin. He was cute...but not who she wanted to see. Just as she about to plop down into her chair to burry her nose in some entertainment magazine's mindless drivel and revel in her defeat, she heard the soft chiming of bells sound as the double glass doors of the store opened and someone entered.  
  
His clean-shaven face and tousled hair fooled her at first, but she couldn't conceal her giddy smile when she realized it was him. The familiar smell of his cologne reached her just after the warmth of his eyes as they locked her hers did, and she was already hooked. Their smiles matched one another and he gravitated towards her.  
  
"Hi," he nearly whispered, drowned in disbelief that she was actually here. She was here. She'd shown up. He hadn't scared her away last week with his sideways glances and innuendo.  
  
"Hey," she sweetly responded, even waving endearingly as he sat down next to her.  
  
They sat like that for almost an entire minute, soaking up the surrealness of the moment. Ross couldn't believe how beautiful she looked. She'd been cute last week, in an awkward, "girl next door" sort of way, but there was nothing awkward about the girl who sat so confidently in front of him now. The top she was wearing revealed a large span of smooth, tanned skin that he hadn't been privy to last week, and her golden brown hair framed her face and flowed over her shoulders. She was hot. There was no other word primitive enough to describe it.  
  
"Wow, you-uh-you look a lot different," he chuckled uncomfortably, resisting reaching out and touching her silky hair. "I almost didn't recognize you." She smiled, proud of the way she'd obviously affected him. He could barely speak.  
  
"You look different, too," she commented, pointing to his hair. "Just roll out of bed?" She asked jokingly.  
  
"Just thought I'd try something different," he smiled goofily, running his hand over it nervously. "No good?"  
  
"No, I just didn't recognize you without all that gel," she threw out, standing to switch clothes from one machine to another again.  
  
"Ouch," he laughed, pressing his hand to his chest and sitting back in his chair. They were falling into a comfortable exchange, now. "You didn't like the gel?"  
  
"I loved the gel," she teased, flirtation now dripping from both of their voices. "So, Mr. Laundry Mat Man, you never told me your name."  
  
"Ah, that's right," he nodded. "I didn't have a conveniently placed nametag, did I?"  
  
"You look familiar," she noted, turning around from her clothes to narrow her eyes in on him and get a closer look at his face. She'd been almost afraid to look directly at him until now. There WAS something unshakable and unnerving, almost, about the familiarly in his eyes. He stared back, his head cocked sideways and his lips twisted in a half smile. He was obviously enjoying watching her watch him.  
  
"Ross," he offered, his voice becoming suddenly shy as he shifted in his chair. Their eyes met again and she smiled and nodded. Ross. It fit him, she deemed. She liked it. It didn't ring a bell, though. "And you're Rachel," he added.  
  
"And I'm Rachel," she repeated, nodding once and smiling as she turned back to her laundry. She felt chills creep up her arms and legs as she felt his eyes on her. She knew he was watching her intently. The silence that had just bestowed itself upon them was deafening in comparison to their chattiness since he'd arrived. She decided to play into it, though, as she leaned over the machine to "reach for something" nonexistent in the bottom.  
  
He watched her as she leaned, narrowing in on her ass and becoming almost entranced. He noticed the way it rounded out perfectly from the gentle, slender curve of her waist, and he could feel his heart begin to pump hot blood faster through his veins as he kept his eyes glued to her. He had never talked to a girl this ridiculously sexy before, and he had never had such an overwhelming desire to be inside a strange girl like this before. The only girl he'd ever had sex with was Carol, and it had taken months for him to work to that part of their relationship. There was something about Rachel, though, and it was not limited to her physical appearance. Effervescence eradiated from her like steam, and it drew him in and then paralyzed him. He had to stop himself when he realized he had been mentally undressing her with his eyes for minutes on end.  
  
"So are you going to use a machine?" she asked, surprising him.  
  
"Huh? Oh, yeah, I was getting to that," he replied, standing up and walking with his bag over to the machine beside hers. He dumped the clothes in and walked around her for the detergent.  
  
"So what do you do?" she asked, pretending to be uninterested as she folded clothes from the drier. In actuality, she'd been wondering these things about him for 7 days.  
  
"I work at a museum," he answered matter-of-factly.  
  
"Oh, like a curator?"  
  
"More like a Paleontologist," he corrected.  
  
"Oh, um, sounds..."  
  
"Boring?"  
  
"No!" she insisted. "Well...yeah, kind of." He smiled and nodded.  
  
"It's okay. Most people think so. What do you do?"  
  
"I'm in fashion. I work at the Prada headquarters uptown."  
  
"Hmm," he considered. "I don't think those two fields could be anymore dissimilar."  
  
"No, probably not," she agreed, nodding and giggling. "That's okay. Yours sounds really hard. I bet you have to be really smart," she wagered, turning to look at how he'd take this inadvertent compliment. He glanced peripherally at her and beamed bashfully.  
  
"Eh," he shrugged, "I guess that's what you get for wasting 6 years in college." He could only wait for his clothes to be done so he just leaned idly against the machine beside her. She lifted herself up and sat cross-legged atop it, facing him.  
  
"Six years? Wow. When did you finish?"  
  
"A few months ago. I just got the job out of luck. I thought I'd have to move back home to Long Island to find work."  
  
"Get out! I'm from Long Island, too!"  
  
"Seriously?" he asked, intrigued. Surely he would have remembered this girl if she'd gone to his school. Maybe she was a few years younger than him. He'd have to conjure up a tactful way of finding out. "Well you're much too pretty to be out of college. You were probably a few years behind me." Score. Nicely done.  
  
"That was smooth," she called him out on the line, nodding and smiling.  
  
"You liked that, did you?" he played along.  
  
"Yeah, but you're a few years off. I graduated almost 3 year ago."  
  
"So you're...24?"  
  
"Oh, don't say it," she cringed. "It makes me feel old." She wiggled as if in attempt to shed the years from herself and shook her head. He became very serious suddenly and grabbed a hold of her stare. This girl didn't look a day past 20. She starred back with equal fervor and they let the moment wash over him. Her breath started coming in quicker gasps just by locking eyes with him and she shivered slightly.  
  
"Are you cold?" he asked, changing subjects. Before she could even answer, he'd shed his Polo shirt down to revealed a white shirt underneath. He handed the navy one to her and she smiled.  
  
"Thank you," she replied, her voice even smaller and softer than before. He nodded.  
  
"If you don't mind me asking," he ventured, hesitating before wandering into more dangerous, personal territory, "is there a reason why you're here by yourself on weekend nights?" She bit her lip nervously and shrugged, holding his gaze.  
  
"Is there a reason you are?"  
  
"Fair enough," he nodded. "I, uh...I guess it's better than staying at home and waiting for my roommate to come back from his dates."  
  
"Wow, I think we're the same person," she joked, actually laughing aloud.  
  
"Aw, come on, you're telling me you can't get dates?" he asked in disbelief. She shrugged against and looked down. A chord had obviously been struck. He immediately regretted his wording.  
  
"Oh, hey, no, that's not what I-"  
  
"No, I know," she looked up, smiling in reassurance. "It's just, um...it's more complicated than that, I guess."  
  
"Most things are."  
  
Her heart melted a little from the sincerity and earnestness of his last statement. When he'd said it, his eyes had locked so compassionately and understandingly with hers. She loved looking into this boy's eyes. They captivated her like nothing else ever had.  
  
"Hey, listen," he broke the silence. "Do you maybe want to get some coffee or something?"  
  
She smiled at the shyness and boyishness in his tone. It was apparent from his intonation that he'd been nervously anticipating rejection, but what he got was quite the opposite.  
  
"I'd like that," she nodded. "Just let me get my things." She hopped down off the machine, removing the remainder of her belongings from the drier and stuffing them haphazardly into her duffle bag.  
  
As they walked out the door, he didn't resist the urge to place his hand on the small of her back to guide her through the door. His fingers brushed against the soft skin just above the waistband of her pant, conducing hot bolts of lightning from her body to his.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
The dimly lit cafe they chose was only a block away, tucked away into a narrow, cobblestone sides street, away from the rest of the city. Ross paid for a caramel apple cider for her and a tall cappuccino for himself and picked out a table by the window. They watched the multicolored leaves collecting and rustling on the ground outside from the trees lining the street and sat in silence for a few minutes.  
  
"So tell me about yourself," he finally declared, before taking a sip of his coffee.  
  
"Do we have time for this?" she joked.  
  
"I do," he stated rather seriously, smiling and staring intensely at her again. She smiled and shrugged.  
  
"Okay, well, I'm 24 and I'm from Long Island. I went to Parsons for 4 years and majored in Fashion Marketing. Um...I've lived with my neurotic roommate Erica about 5 blocks from here since I graduated..." she searched for ways to make her bland life sound more compelling, but was falling short. She was relieved to look up and see him somehow still hanging on her every word. He chuckled after a moment of silence.  
  
"What?" she asked curiously.  
  
"No, it's nothing," he brushed it off. "It's just that, um...I've been wondering all of those things about you since I first saw you...and now I know. It's just a little...hmm...weird, I guess."  
  
"You've been wondering about me?" she asked, surprised and intrigued and flattered, all at once.  
  
"Well...yeah," he revealed. "Is that okay?" he asked hopefully, sounding so endearingly adorable that her heart breaking was visible across her face. Oh wow, she thought. Is this guy for real? It's not possible to be this cute.  
  
"It's okay," she nodded. "What about you? You're just going to leave me to wonder?"  
  
"Oh, I'm boring," he chuckled. "Let's see. Well, I'm 25, I just finished grad school at NYU last spring, I live on the other side of the Village with my roommate Carver, and..." he trailed off, considering whether or not he should finish the way he really wanted to. She looked as if she were waiting. "...and I'm having coffee with the most breathtakingly gorgeous girl I've ever seen."  
  
She was stunned speechless. No guy had ever said anything like that to her before. She felt a welling up inside her-- a pressure-- that was all-encompassing. It started at her center and radiated to every tip of her body. Her head literally spun. Throwing caution to the wind, she reached out and stroked the back of his hand with her thumb.  
  
"Ross?" she almost whispered.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'm going to do something right now, okay?" Pause. Swallow. "And it's totally out of character for me, and I'm not sure if I'll regret it or not...but I know I will if I don't." He nodded, not daring to peal his eyes from her. "So just let me do it, okay?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
With the most gentle care, she leaned in and placed the slowest, most provocative, breathtaking kiss against his lips either of them had ever experienced. It lasted for only a few fleeting seconds, and then she pulled away.  
  
Rachel opened her eyes to find Ross' still closed, his mouth still slightly opened, and his head still cocked to the side. She smiled and blushed, wiping the corner of her mouth self-consciously. When he was finally done savoring the kiss to open his eyes, he saw her wide-eyed and anticipatory starring back at him.  
  
"Was that okay?" she asked, repeating the question he'd asked just minutes before. He had to stop himself from laughing at the absurdity of the question. Instead, he answered simply and honestly.  
  
"That was okay," he nodded, smiling. He reached up and brushed a piece of hair from in front of her eyes. He swallowed deeply. This was insane. He'd never done anything like this before. It had taken him weeks to even admit to Carol that he'd liked her. Then, several more after that to muster up the courage to ask her out, and a few more after that to kiss her. Something in Rachel heightened all of those senses, though, and stirred something inside him. He shook his head a little to assure himself he wasn't dreaming.  
  
"It's getting kind of late," she pointed out. He looked out the window and nodded.  
  
"I'll walk you home."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
The two walked in almost complete silence the 15 minutes back to Rachel's apartment. Looking down at the ground in front of them, they laced fingers and wrapped themselves inside a surreal reverie. Neither could explain or account for whatever this was, but it was equally difficult for them to even let the other's hand go when they arrived at her stoop.  
  
"This is a nice place," he complimented, looking the building up and down and stuffing his hands inside his pockets nervously. It was getting colder and he was just noticing that she'd been wearing his Polo shirt this whole time. You could see their breaths mix in the air between them.  
  
"Thanks. Do you want your shirt back?"  
  
"No, it's okay." He put his hands up as if to push her offering away. "You can keep it for a little while." She smiled and nodded, looking down, once again, at the ground. She looked back up after a moment.  
  
She felt a compulsion deep inside her that she was fighting off with every logical fiber of her being. Her brain was battling it out with her heart and gut, but it was rapidly losing control as she noticed the way his smile lingered long after he meant for it to and the way he rocked back and forth more nervously the closer he got to her. These were bad thoughts she was having. She knew she shouldn't do it.  
  
"Do you want to come up?" she spoke softly, looking up hopefully and innocently at him. It didn't matter that she shouldn't. She couldn't help it. She couldn't explain it.  
  
"Really?" he asked, a little too eagerly. He flinched at his own rudeness. "I mean...really?" he asked again, this time a little more subtly and coolly. She laughed at his uneasiness. She soon afterwards reached out for his hand and clasped it, though, and nodded as she lead him up the stairs.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Their mouths were smothering the other's before her key even hit the lock. Somehow, Rachel managed to infiltrate the door and make it to the other side with Ross clawing clumsily and eagerly at her shirt and pressing himself against her. She silently thanked God that Erica was not there. She didn't bother with the light switch. She didn't even remember it.  
  
With the door closed, the two dropped their respective bags at the door and reveled in the newfound use of both hands. Immediately, her arms went around his neck and her hands into his hair, scratching his scalp and rubbing the back of his neck. He moaned into her mouth as he groped at her ass, cupping it and squeezing it firmly with both hands as he pushed his erection hard into her stomach. Before she knew it, he'd lifted her up into his arms and she'd wrapped her legs tightly around his waist. He pushed her harder up against the door as he left her mouth momentarily to bite and lick her neck.  
  
"Bedroom," he groaned commandingly, implicitly asking for her direction. She grabbed two handfuls of his hair and urged on his kisses as she murmured something about 'upstairs'.  
  
He somehow made it up the flight of steps with her still clinging securely to him. He kicked open her door and slammed it behind him with a single foot before throwing her onto the bed. He wasted no time, pouncing on her immediately without turning on a light or even giving thought as to where he was or what his surroundings were. He tore at her clothes, nearly ripping her shirt and the zipper from her jeans as he removed them. She was naked beneath him quicker than either of them had thought possible, but thankfully so.  
  
He couldn't see straight, he was so disoriented and drunk on her. Even her saliva tasted and felt sweet. The room spun around them and his head felt heavy, but he disregarded it all to concentrate on the woman whose legs he was cradled so securely between. She pulled the white t-shirt from his torso and was still working on his belt when he lost control and slid two fingers inside her.  
  
"Ahhh," she yelped, surprised at the simultaneously pleasure and pain of his harsh thrusts. Everything was hard and fast and sloppy and primal and exactly what both of them wanted and needed. She gritted her teeth and sucked in short gasps of air, moaning his name and groaning as he pushed his fingers more rapidly in and out of her. She whispered in his ear for more, biting and licking him there, spreading her legs further apart to accommodate both his body and his hand, and grasping and clawing at his back with her fingernails.  
  
By the time he stopped, she had him completely undressed, turning them over so he was on his back beneath her. He gripped her waist and back and ass and thighs and hair...anything that belonged to her. It all felt equally better than he thought anything ever could. He couldn't see very well through the thick bleakness of the room, but he had some vague idea of her bracing her arms against the headboard that his back was now against. They were sitting up, her straddling him and panting into his ear.  
  
"Do you want to fuck me?" she asked, and even she hadn't known where it came from. She rocked against him, feeling his dick pressed against her thigh and knowing it was only inches away from happening ff both of them wanted to proceed.  
  
"Yes," he moaned back. "Yes, ever since I saw you, yes," he continued, rubbing his hands tenderly up and down her back. It was the first real act of emotion or sentiment either had committed since all of this had begun. "Do you want me to?" he asked.  
  
"Yes," she assured him, nodding and running her hands through his hair. "Yes," one more time, before she began kissing him passionately again. With this affirmation, it was on.  
  
She lifted up just enough to allow him to position herself beneath her and then, with him pushing down on her waist firmly, she sat down and groaned loudly as he entered her. From the noise she'd made, he honestly thought he'd hurt her. This realization was sobering and he stopped the fierce neediness of their actions to look through the darkness into her eyes.  
  
"Are you okay?" he managed to ask. He'd wanted to sound more concerned, but he was still inside her and he was only human. She nodded and let out a loud puff of air.  
  
"I'm fine," she assured him. "I'm okay. Just keep going."  
  
She didn't have to ask him twice. She pushed down as he pushed up, meeting each other in the middle and moaning and gasping with his quickened drive. Their tongues danced around each other and their hands roamed each other's bodies, clawing desperately for anything to hold onto.  
  
"Tell me," she begged, her moans getting louder as she hugged him tightly to her body now.  
  
"Soon," was all he could manage before he let out a final holler and collapsed back against the headboard.  
  
She fell against his chest, both breathing impossibly heavily. It hadn't lasted long, but that had been expected, consider how long it had been for both of them. He swallowed and wiped the sweat from his face, looking down to see the top of her head. Her hair was still feathery and smelled like cocoanut. He smiled at the epiphany of what had just happened.  
  
"Are you okay?" he asked, his chest still heaving. He ran his fingers up and down her back and pulled the covers more securely over them. She just nodded and placed her hands on his sides, stroking lightly up and down. He kissed the top of her head and cuddled her closely to him, burrowing her beside him and wrapping both arms tightly around her.  
  
"Will you stay?" she asked. He couldn't believe that she thought she even had to.  
  
"Until you make me go," he answered. He could feel her smile against his chest.  
  
"Has this ever happened to you before?" she asked.  
  
"I don't think this has ever happened to anybody before," he noted. He was probably right. She nodded in agreement. They fell asleep only minutes afterwards, both exhausted and spent and wasted on one another.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
End Chapter 3. Continued in Chapter 4. 


	4. Chapter 4

"Happenstance set the vibe that we're in.  
No apology, because my urge is genuine, and the mystery of your rhythm is so feminine. Here I am, and I want to take a hit of your scent ,  
'cause it bit so deep into my soul.  
Oh, I want you."

The lyrics began from somewhere dull and vague in the back of his consciousness, but gradually became louder as he was pulled from sleep. He lifted his head from the pillow, struggling to adjust his eyes and gazing confusedly across the plane of sheets. An alarm clock was crooning, but much too softly to ever wake anyone up who wasn't already well on their way. The red digital figures read 9:00 A.M., and he was startled for a moment when he realized he had no idea where he was.

He looked around the room-- most white with the occasional girly sentiment tossed unmethodically about-- and over the bed, which, in the absence of a real frame or headboard, was really just a levitated mattress. And he was naked.

Ah, yes. He remembered. How had he forgotten, even in that muddled obscurity for the few moments of cognizance? He turned over on his other side and was almost surprised to see her lying there. She was, like him, still entirely undressed, laying on her stomach. Her fine lilac sheets were thrown about her waist, exposing the broad expanse of smooth, tan skin of her back. Her face was turned away from him and her hair was wild.

He leaned across her, pressing his chest to her back and positioning his face in front of hers. He could feel her shallow breaths and eyelashes against his cheek. He smiled. He was so close to her that his lips were already touching hers, so the gesture wasn't entirely a kiss, but it nevertheless succeeded in stirring her from sleep.

She smiled and closed her eyes again, nodding in recognition of him. Neither spoke, though. Carefully, he removed his face from before hers and positioned himself so that he was laying completely atop her, all of his body pressing hers into the mattress. He laid his head against her back and supported himself slightly on his bent arms, running his fingers softly over the skin of her shoulders. She giggled. This pleased him. In hopes of augmenting more laughs, he blew puffs of air gently against her back and trailed a few kisses behind them. She squirmed beneath him, but he was persistent and did not let her up. When she finally managed to wiggle free, he rolled over on his back and pulled her to lay on top of his chest.

"Hey," he ventured, smiling down at her.

"Mmm, hi," she answered, closing her eyes and smiling as she ran one hand absentmindedly through his chest hair.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Kinda sore," she admitted, only half kidding and opening her eyes to look at him now.

"I gave it my best shot," he joked, shrugging and running a hand down her back to settle it just above her ass.

"Well," she retorted, "it's been a while since it was a regular thing for me, but from what I remember, you sure knocked it out."

He smiled proudly and nodded. Suddenly, though, the mood got serious and he felt her eyes burning into him. He moved his hand up to press it firmly against her back.

"Hey...last night..." he began, not sure of what he was actually going to say, "it was really...I mean, not that I have a frame of reference with this sort of thing...no, not that this is 'a sort of thing', but--"

"Ross?" she interjected, smiling a bit at his anxiety. "It was really wonderful for me, too."

"Good," he stated happily. "God, that's good, because you wouldn't believe how scared I was when I saw you this morning that you were going to wake up and think I was the biggest ass."

"Why would I think that?" she asked, authentically confused.

"I don't know...I guess I was just afraid you'd think I was some asshole who'd taken advantage of you and was going to duck out when it was over."

"Well, you're still here, aren't you?"

"I am," he nodded, smiling in assurance and kissing her forehead, "...and I will be until it stops being okay with you." She smiled and kissed his chest as compensation.

"God, Ross, are we insane? I mean, is this totally crazy?"

"I think so, yes," he teased, though he was serious. "But I don't care," he quickly added, shaking his head.

"Me neither," she confirmed, wiggling her nose at him in a devastatingly charming way and leaning up to kiss him right between the eyes. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to pee," she announced uninhibitedly, getting up from the bed and strolling across the room to the adjoining bathroom.

He watched her go, propping himself up against the wall and putting his arms behind his head, smiling contentedly as he watched her naked form amble slowly and seductively away. She really was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and in such a natural way. Sure, she could be any one of those Maybelline or Cover girls, but she had more to her. There was something so womanly and maternal about her-- in everything from her posture to her caress. He'd never felt so safe or protected by anyone as he had in just those few moments after their lovemaking when she'd held him. Something inside her-- in the way she touched him, spoke to him, kissed him, held him, and made love to him-- told him she was the real thing. She was what he'd been waiting for.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. He panicked initially, but then realized that he was not 18 and this was not some girl's room he'd snuck into in the middle of the night. It was probably just that roommate Rachel had told him so much about.

"Rach, are you in there? I can't find my keys and they're going to tow my car if I don't move it!"

Ross wasn't sure of what to do. Surely she'd heard them last night (the whole building probably had), so she had to know he was in there. Still deeming it inappropriate to answer, however, he sat by anxiously, hoping Rachel would hear. She did, and came rushing back into the room just as Erica decided to barge in.

"Rachel, have you seen my--WOAH!" she exclaimed, shielding her eyes to the bare-assed roommate standing before her. Instinctively, Rachel hopped into the bed beside Ross and threw the sheets over her.

"Erica, what are you doing!?" she yelled. "Jesus, knock first!"

"I did!" she defended herself, still turned around and shielding her eyes. "You obviously didn't hear! I'm sorry! I'm not here! I'm leaving!"

Erica closed the door behind her, leaving a very tense Rachel sitting in bed beside a very amused Ross. When she saw him chuckling, she smacked him across the chest.

"Ross, that wasn't funny! You don't know Erica! She's not going to leave me alone for DAYS, now!"

"Well, maybe I just wont leave you alone for days, first, and then she wont get a chance," he suggested, pulling her down against him with her head on his chest. She put up no fight, falling willingly into his embrace. They laid like that for a little while, enjoying one another in complete silence.

"Hey, Ross?" she finally said, her voice sounding kind of feeble. "This might be a dumb question, but you wouldn't want to come to this really silly dinner party at my work on Friday, would you?"

"Why's that a dumb question?" he asked, rubbing her back. "I'd love to."

This was obviously the correct response, as it merited her reaching up and placing a deep, open-mouthed kiss on his lips. She pressed herself firmly against him and kissed him until his toes curled and he was out of breath. When she pulled away, she just sat there starting intensely at him.

"What was that for?" he asked. "Not that I'm complaining...at all."

"The last guy I dated never came to even one of my work events ," she explained. Ross was taken slightly aback by her use of the word "dated", unsure as to what the implications of that meant for him, but decided to overlook it momentarily.

"I'm sure he was just a really busy guy."

"We dated for over a year," she revealed. Not sure of how to respond to this, Ross decided to get back to her previous statement.

"Well, you've never dated me before," he retorted, smiling boyishly.

"Is that what this is?" she asked nervously.

"Well, we haven't technically been on a date, yet," he pointed out.

"Wow, you're right," she agreed. "Yikes, I put out before the first date! I'll tell ya, I'm really letting myself go." She didn't say it as if the prospect worried her.

"How about this?" he proposed. "I've got to work almost every day this week, and I imagine you do, too. So what do you say to Friday being our first official date? I'll bring you flowers and everything-- real classy."

"I say that sounds wonderful. Now, cuddle with me some more before I have to go," she demanded, pulling him on top of her.

"Where are you going? It's the weekend."

"I've got to help my sister move into her new place," she disclosed.

"Oh, because thought maybe we could do some more laundry..." he teased. Without even lifting her head from his chest, she reached over for one of her feather pillows and hit him in the face with it.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO End Chapter 4. Continued in Chapter 5. 


	5. Chapter 5

Just to clarify, in this story, Rachel and Mark had a brief affair in between her last relationship and Ross (although that's pretty self explanatory). Things (obviously) didn't end well and they haven't really spoken since they broke things off. I'm not really going to include any details because they're not important. Basically, Mark's a real asshole, but you'll probably pick up on that. :-) 

Also, the preview from the first page will be changed slightly.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ross gazed intently into the mirror, tightening his jaw and attempting for the fifth time to tie his tie straightly. The gel was already placed strategically in his hair, the cologne applied, and he'd picked out what he thought to be an appropriate outfit for the occasion-- sexy but classy.

"Screw it," he sighed, throwing the tie to the side and deciding to, instead, unbutton the collar and go more casually. With that, he stepped back and gave himself a good once-over. 'Not too bad,' he thought. He'd chosen a pair of khaki dress pants with a brown belt and a pressed white dress shirt. Nothing too flashy, but then again, he wasn't sure how flashy this dinner was supposed to be. He didn't know much of anything about it at all.

He'd spoken to Rachel earlier that day and she'd told him to be at the Marriott in Times Square at 8 o'clock. She'd have to be there early to help set up, so he couldn't pick her up, putting a damper on the real 'date' atmosphere. He didn't really care, though. All that mattered was that he'd somehow made it to the end of the week and he could finally see her again. It had been torturous, mundanely droning through each hour of each day until he could be reunited with her. It had been all he'd thought of, and it was finally here.

He walked out into the living room where Carver was watching TV. Though his roommate hadn't been very supportive in the beginning, when Ross had come home after that night spent with her, Carver had been able to see immediately that this girl wasn't going away any time soon; that she was for real.

"You leaving already?" Carver asked, looking down at his watch. "It's only like 6:30."

"Yeah, I know, but I want to pick up some flowers and catching a cab's going to be Hell at this time of day."

"Alright, well take it easy. Oh, and hey," he added, catching Ross right before he exited the door. Ross braced himself for some asshole, insensitive Carverism. "I really hope you have a good time, man," he finished, catching Ross off guard.

"Oh, um...well, thanks," Ross answered, smiling and nodding. With that, he was on his way.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Erica, will you come here for a sec?" Rachel shouted from the bathroom, holding a surfeit of bobby pins in her mouth, the straight iron in one hand and keeping her dress up with the other.

"Yeah, what's the--" Erica began, immediately lapsing into hysterics when she entered the bathroom to find her roommate in her current predicament. "Oh, wow, aren't we sexy?"

"Yeah, laugh it up, but will you please hold like all of this while I put my dress on?" She asked, hanging it all to Erica.

"What, were you trying to do everything simultaneously?" Erica asked, balancing every girly product known to man in her arms while watching her roommate in befuddlement.

"I don't know! Argh, I'm just so nervous and I have to be there in like 30 minutes and I'm not even close to ready and the name tags all got screwed up and the caterer--"

"Woah, woah, woah!" Erica calmed. "One thing at a time!"

"No, you're right," Rachel nodded, breathing deeply and gaining some poise. "What's first?"

"You cannot wear those panties with that dress."

"What?" Rachel asked, almost indignantly. She didn't have time for Erica's crazy antics. "Why the hell not?"

"They don't match. You ARE planning on getting some tonight, right? Do you really want Hottie McGee to tear off that black dress and find a navy blue thong underneath? That's a no-no, honey."

"Erica, men TOTALLY don't care about lingerie! Everyone knows women only buy this stuff to impress one another. Ross had just as soon want me to wear nothing as--"

"Oh, now there's an idea," Erica joked, raising an eyebrow.

"Ugh, Erica, you're impossible! You know what, though? Fine," she appeased, removing the underwear and running naked out of the bathroom, up the stairs and into her room to retrieve an almost identical lacy thong, only this one was black. She adorned it and modeled it for Erica at the top of the stairs.

"Happy?" she asked. Erica smiled and nodded as Rachel shook her head, descending the stairs. "You know, we could have filmed this little charade and sold it online to some 12-year-old boy for hundreds," Rachel wagered jokingly.

"Alright, back on track," Erica announced. "Put on that cute little strapless number, I'll iron your hair, you style it, and I'll pick out your jewelry. Now, go!" With that, the girls were off.

Even as a hundred things flooded Rachel's mind at once, through it all, his boyishly handsome smiling face remained in her thoughts. She couldn't wait for him to see her tonight. She couldn't wait to see him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The ballroom of the Marriott was decorated beautifully when guests began arriving. White Christmas lights were strewn around everywhere, a giant swan ice statue that doubled as a fountain sat in the middle of the room and a live band was beginning their set on the stage at the far end. Everyone was dressed stylishly, and dozens of models donning items from the upcoming season's line were mingling with the guests. Meanwhile, Rachel was sitting at a table on the edge of the room recovering from the near coronary she'd had trying to put most of it together.

She'd cleaned up well, though, finally making it on time in a stunningly sexy, short, black, satin strapless dress by Prada. She'd flat ironed her hair, giving it a sleek shiny look, and then arranged it in that sort of secretly-complicated-yet-casual-looking-messy-fixture that women somehow pull off using thousands of invisible bobby pins. Her make-up was applied in natural earthy tones-- her eyes smoky and her skin flawless. To set it off, she was wearing strappy black "fuck me" stillettos All in all, she was a completely different person from that tattered girl Ross had met so many weeks ago in the laundry mat. She smiled when she thought of how winded he would undoubtedly be when he saw her.

She looked up at the clock on the wall and noticed it was almost 8. 'I'll scan the room once before I go out to meet him,' she thought to herself. She did kind of want to show herself off to her colleagues, and she was eager to see what everyone else looked like and to revel in what she'd spent so much time putting together.

She hadn't made it ten feet before he spotted her and their eyes locked; the one person she'd been praying to avoid tonight.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Thanks," Ross threw out to the cabbie, exiting the vehicle and handing over his money.

Behind him, the yellow car sped away and the true underlying nightlife of commercialized New York City was beginning to buzz all around him. Tourists snapped pictures, couples walked hand-in-hand, horns honked, tires screeched, and lights flashed. He stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the red sign reading 'Marriott' and took a deep breath.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Rachel," he whispered, approaching her with an almost twisted smile on his face.

"Mark," she deadpanned, her tone monotonous and her face stern.

"You look--"

"Don't start," she pleaded, shaking her head and looking around the room, desperately searching for any excuse to leave the conversation before it even began.

"What's the matter?" he asked smugly. "I can't even tell you how sex you are? From what I remember, you always liked that."

"Mark..." she warned, her voice threatening. "What do you want?" She looked around nervously, like she was afraid to be seen with him. She crossed her arms defensively over her chest. She got the chills just talking to him.

"Oh, not much," he teased, smiling and stuffing his hands pompously into his pockets. "Just a dance."

"I don't dance," she lied. He knew it was a lie, too. They'd dance plenty of times before, and he didn't hesitate to remind her of this.

"Oh, I think you dance pretty well," he whispered, leaning in closer to her face and reaching out to graze her hip lightly with his fingers. She jerked away out of reflex.

"Stop it," she cautioned, looking into his eyes for the first time and sending him an evil look. "I don't dance with you."

"Aw, come on, Rach." He was almost begging now. "You and I used to have so much fun together. You can't even talk to me now?"

"We're talking, aren't we?" she rebuked harshly.

"No," he shook his head, locking his gaze on her. He was undressing her with his eyes. She could tell. Somehow...somehow, he was having an effect on her. "No, this isn't talking. This isn't us, Rach." He reached out to touch her cheek. She was surprised at herself when she didn't pull away. 'No,' she thought. 'Don't let him reel you into this."

"There never was an 'us', Mark," she reminded him.

"There wasn't? Wow, well then I must just be imagining all of those multiple orgasms I gave you," he whispered, chuckling deviously and reaching out for her arm.

"It was just sex," she insisted, and for a moment she thought she might be trying to convince herself of that more so than him.

"Oh, I think it was more than that, and you know it," he spat, his tone suddenly harsh and offensive. He tightened his grip on her arm, jerking her closer to him. She had to stifle a yelp from the jolt of bruising pain.

"Mark, stop it, you're hurting me," she whispered, not wanting to make a scene. She looked around and was surprised when no one seemed to notice what was happening right in the middle of the dance floor.

"I thought you liked it rough, baby," he teased evilly, being so brazen as to actually lean in and bite her earlobe.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Excuse me, sir, can you tell me where the main ballroom is?" Ross asked the concierge at the front desk.

"Are you a guest of the Prada benefit?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah, that's the one. I'm with Rachel Green."

The man scanned the list with his finger and finally came to Rachel's name.

"It's at the very end of this hallway," he man informed. "It's just begun."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Mark, let go of me right now, you're making a scene," Rachel maintained, trying her best not to vomit from the feeling of Mark's breath on her face and tongue in her ear.

"I can make a much bigger scene if you don't come quietly," he warned, pressing his fingers more firmly into her flesh, causing her to wince. "Well, actually, I guess you never did come quietly," he punned.

"You're disgusting," she spat at him, unable to believe she was even in this situation. Of every bad decision she'd ever made, she regretted Mark the most.

"I think I can change your mind," he predicted, running his other hand over her ass and up the back of her thigh.

"Mark, stop it!" she nearly yelled, attempting to physically push him away this time. People were really dancing around her, now, making it all but impossible to distinguish between her predicament and the typical grindings associated with 'dancing' these days.

"I don't think you want me to stop," he gambled. "I think you haven't been fucked like you deserve in a long time, and I think you like it," he all but grunted into her ear, punctuating it with a flick of his tongue against her temple. She was about to tell him that she'd actually been 'fucked' quite nicely not a week ago by a man who was quickly becoming the potential love of her life...but the sight of a figure at the door stopped her in her tracks.

Him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

His breath caught in his throat and his heart threatened to beat right out of his chest.

It was her...Rachel...his Rachel...all but making out with a tall, dark, devastatingly handsome man. His hands were on her and his mouth was at her ear...and she wasn't stopping it. It actually looked like she was enjoying it, but he couldn't tell, because a warm salty liquid was already threatening his eyes and he felt like he was going to vomit.

He turned on his heels and began back the way he'd come.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Oh, God, Ross!" she breathed, finally jerking free from Mark's embrace.

"Ross? Who the fuck's Ross?" he asked, standing dumbfounded in her tracks as she pushed and shoved her way through the crowd of gyrating people.

She had to get to him. She couldn't even imagine what had gone through his mind when he'd seen the compromising position Mark had her in. She hated that bastard-- even more than before, now, if that was possible. She caught up with him in the glass vestibule between the lobby and the street.

"Ross!" she called, running to the door and standing in front of it, blocking it off. His hand had barely touched the glass before she'd obstructed his exit. She found herself void of all reason and words, his big, dark, puppy dog eyes staring down at her, filled with engagement and intrigue.

"What?" he asked coldly.

"Wait," she begged.

"Why did you ask me here, Rachel?" he asked pointedly, sighing in mid sentence and sagging his shoulders in exhaustion."Was it so I'd see you with him? Well, you should have saved yourself the trouble and just told me you had a boyfriend."

"Ross!" she blurted out in disbelief, obviously offended. "Is that really what you think?"

"Well isn't that what happened?"

"I invited you here because we're friends!"

"Yeah?" he asked, right on the heels of her testament. "Do you invite all of your friends up for a little roll in the hay after coffee?"

That one stung. She couldn't even conjure up an appropriately sarcastic, edgy comeback. She was frozen cold by his words. The worst part was that he was right.

"Or were you getting to that after dinner?" he added, only harshening the previous comment's effect.

"You know what? Maybe you should leave," she suggested. He leaned into her, putting his mouth beside her ear as if in preparation for revealing some sort of secret.

"I was." Unable to say anything more and too frustrated to continue the conversation at all, she stepped out of his way and let him proceed. She watched as he eyed her one last time, shoved his hands into his pockets, and retreated out the door.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

End Chapter 5. Continued in Chapter 6.


	6. Chapter 6

I know it's rather uneventful, but I'm finishing up exams and I felt like I had to update with SOMETHING before a lot of people lost interest. A bigger, better update is on its way. Hold on!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ross barged into his apartment, slamming the door harshly behind him, dropping the now-wilted flowers that he'd, for whatever reason, carried with him all the way back home in the trash. He was loosening his tie and pacing erratically around the coffee table when Carver walked in from his bedroom.

"Woah, what the hell are you doing home?" he asked, looking genuinely confused and even a bit worried.

"Don't ask," Ross insisted, shaking his head.

"Was she not there or something?"

"Oh, no, she was there, alright!" Ross almost yelled, still pacing. He was a wreck-- a loose canon. The reaction he was having was more than just emotional-- it was physical. He could almost feel his stomach sinking into his bowels and a cold sweat coating his body. He had never been so furious. He had to stop himself from breaking something.

"Jesus Christ, dude, calm down! What happened?" Carver yelled back, having no idea what on Earth could have shaken his normally calm friend so much. He was sure it had to be terrible.

"She was..." Ross began, then deciding immediately against elaborating. He couldn't say it. He couldn't explain it or even think about it. No matter how he tried to express it, he knew the image would come flooding back into his head, and he couldn't risk that. He wouldn't be able to bear it, and he wouldn't be able to maintain his rapidly diminishing composure, then. "No, just...forget it. Forget her. I don't think things will be working out," he informed, swiftly heading back towards his bedroom.

He was hot. The whole apartment felt like a sauna. Eagerly, he unbuttoned his shirt and stripped off the undershirt, dropping his pants next, desperate to relieve the smoldering, choking heat. Instinctively, he headed towards the shower, turning the cold water on full blast. Before he could get in, Carver was standing behind him.

"Dude..." Carver began, looking almost afraid that Ross was going to jump down his throat. "Are you okay?" He sounded completely sincere. Ross sighed and turned around to face him.

"Yeah...yeah, it's just, uh..." He shrugged and scratched his head. "She's not really who I thought she was," he diplomatically lied. That wasn't it at all. She was still exactly who he'd thought she was...she just wasn't his anymore, was all. She never had been his.

"Fucking slut," Carver spat, trying to make Ross feel better in his own, immature way. Ross was surprised when he took offense to Carver's comment.

"No, that's not it," he shook his head. Was that it, though? He sure wanted to see her as one. He wanted to hate her-- to spit at her and scream demeaning profanities that dwarfed the ones he'd whispered to her face not 30 minutes ago. He didn't know why his instinct was still to defend her.

"Whatever it was," he continued, "she was obviously never worth your time."

Ross nodded and attempted a smile, turning back around to signal that he was done talking for now. He slid into the shower, his muscles contracting in protest of the ice cold water. He didn't care. It still felt like a warmly welcomed relief from the heat that had been building up inside him. He sealed his eyes shut and let the aching cut sharply into his skin. He wasn't sure if it was the water or something else.

He couldn't stop picturing it. This man he had never seen-- who he had never known, and who had never existed to him before-- touching and groping and grinding against her. His hands traveling down the smooth curve of her ass and up the backs of her thighs. His mouth at her ear and neck. He had wanted to throw up and pound the guy's face in at the same time. His reaction had been so primitive-- so territorial. His initial, instinctual thoughts had been that she was his and this man was threatening that. He was being robbed of something that was his-- or at least, something that was so close to being him.

All of this hadn't blinded him from how devastatingly sexy she'd looked, either. Somehow, he'd simultaneously been feeling all of those repulsive, terrifying things, and fighting back a hard-on from starring at her. It was sick, really, that he could do that-- that he could be turned on while wanting to vomit. Her hair had been so silky and chic, flowing over her shoulders and down her back. Her skin was so dark and smooth, silky-looking and stretched across her bones so delicately and taught. And that dress...God, that dress had floored him. He couldn't bear to think that he might have been dancing with her right now, with her wearing that dress and his hands roaming over her like that man's had been.

He climbed into bed, freezing cold and not bothering to put any clothes on besides a dry pair of boxers. He tried to fall asleep immediately, but knew it would be impossible before he even attempted it. For a moment, he remembered the way she'd chased after him down the hallway and out into the lobby. She'd grabbed his arm and stood in front of him, so intent on telling him something...but then nothing. He'd wanted an explanation so badly, and had been waiting eagerly for one, though he'd put on a solemn face for show. When she'd remained silent, he'd known it was over. He might have been able to look past it-- to stop himself from walking out-- if she'd offered any kind of justification or condolence. If she'd said anything at all, really. If she hadn't used that damned word.

Friend. They were friends. Admittedly, he'd seen past it, and he'd known from the moment she'd said it that she didn't mean it. He knew she was falling in love with him, just like he could feel himself slipping closer every moment he was with her. They'd been anything but friends. They'd be enemies before they'd be 'just friends'. She'd said it, though, and that had been his exit cue. There was no turning back after that forced admission.

He wondered why she'd run after him, though. Had it merely been her knee-jerk reaction? Had she been caught in her web of philandering and lies and had only attempted to stop him out of embarrassment or, God forbid, pity?

Or was there something more? The possibility that this was all just one big misunderstanding played at the back of his consciousness. The way her eyes had burned into his, silently pleading with him, haunted him. No one could fake that-- not even a beautiful woman. There had been sincerity there, accompanied by fear and anxiety.

It probably didn't matter, now, anyway. He knew very well that he might never see her again.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Fucking shit!" the pretty girl screamed into the warm New York air, stomping her heel against the cracked pavement and soliciting the sideways stares of strangers as they passed. A saltiness welled up underneath her eyes as she leaned back against the dark brick of the building.

"Who the hell was that guy?" her repellent male associate asked accusingly as he stepped out of the rotating glass doors into the night air. She shot him an evil scowl.

"DAMMIT, Mark, leave me alone!" she literally screamed, attracting even more onlookers. She was openly crying now, her voice shaken and cracking and her eyes misty.

"Hey, whatever," he murmured, holding up his hands in surrender as he backed away. "Even you aren't a good enough fuck to be worth all this. Call me when you've booked a shrink," he quipped, turning and reentering the building.

Rachel let out a loud sob and sat down, shamelessly, on the ground underneath the overhang of the building. She knew people were starring at her, but she didn't care. She couldn't make herself. Her tears fell from her cheeks and hit the ground, splashing in what seemed like mass amounts enough to be considered puddles. She slumped her shoulders and buried her face in her hands.

This always happened. Sins of her past-- juvenile mistakes she made over and over-- kept coming back to haunt her. It seemed like she was the one woman in Manhattan who wasn't allowed to sleep with the wrong guy, get into the wrong relationship or make the wrong friends without paying for it with her sanity.

Mark had been a brief, ill-advised period of weakness a few months ago, She'd just broken up with Barry and was feeling alone and worthless. Mark made her feel so good and wanted, though she'd known all along he didn't love her. She'd thought it okay, since she knew she didn't love him either, and the sex had been so good. He'd be rough with her-- something Barry had always refused to do. He'd make her feel sexy, his eyes burning so primitively into her body right before he'd throw her against a wall or the mattress and fuck her until she couldn't remember her name. She'd never had a man be that aggressive and passionate with her, and it had excited her.

It had eventually begun to spin out of control, though, when he'd come over to her apartment unannounced and well past midnight, drunk and demanding not-always-wanted sex. The way he'd treated her on a few occasions towards the end had been borderline abuse, if not rape, so she'd cut it off for fear of her own well-being. He hadn't taken it well, obviously, but this had been the first time she'd had to deal with him since she broke it off. 'The perfect moment,' she thought bitterly to herself.

Mark perfectly exemplified her history with men. They'd all been outwardly attractive in some way-- be it physically or monetarily-- but always such unworthy, ill-matched losers, in the end. Even her high school boyfriends had all been either brain-dead, shallow jocks or burnouts. 

And now, for all her perpetual blunders and bad luck, the only thing she'd ever done right was potentially gone forever.

She couldn't shake that face from her thoughts. She'd never seen such a combination of devastation and betrayal in one expression before. That one image alone had been even worse than the nauseating feeling of Mark's erection pushing against her hip. She dreaded going home, now, and climbing feebly into bed, as she knew she'd end up doing. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep with that face haunting her.

Weakly, she picked herself up and held in her sobs, wiping the mascara from beneath her eyes and beginning the trek back to her home. She wouldn't try for a cab for a few more blocks.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Rachel sat on her bed, starring at the telephone, her knees tucked up under her chin. She'd been sitting in that position for almost an hour now. Once, she'd even begun to dial, but had immediately thrown the receiver down as soon as she heard the first rink. She closed her eyes and sighed in exasperation.

Part of her knew she was being silly. If she could only talk to him, she knew she could clear this whole mess up. She almost smiled when she thought about his voice, and how it would pulsate so velvety and soothing over the line, making her stomach jump and her head spin, just like every time before. The grin faded when she realized it wouldn't be that simple.

What would make him believe her? Even if she tried explaining herself, why would he be compelled to buy her story? The position he'd caught her in had been quite compromising, and even she didn't know how she'd let it go so far. She was sure he'd want to believe her, but would that be enough? He might very well never be able to trust her again, and she knew that calling and confirming that would be more than she could bear.

She laid back and clutched her pillow to her body, wondering what he was doing. Maybe laundry? Maybe meeting some new girl, with a slightly brighter smile and much simpler story? Less baggage and more to offer? Maybe she'd take the time to get to know him properly, rather than just irrationally taking him back to her apartment for a quick fucking like she'd so hastily done. She'd been so stupid and undoubtedly given him the wrong impression.

Maybe all of this was what he needed-- a chance to start over with a more worthy girl. Maybe it was a sign that her history was too drawn-out and complicated for him-- her laundry too dirty. She needed to be with a man as unstable and lonely as herself, not wasting a perfectly unharmed man's time with her hang-ups.

Still, she couldn't shake the resolute nagging in the back of her mind that she should at least make an effort. Rather than picking up the phone, though, she headed for her laundry bag. Reaching for a black, hooded sweatshirt and her wallet, she headed our the door in search of something she'd already undoubtedly lost forever.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ross switched the television off and let the remote slide down between the leather cushions. He glanced over at the phone on the kitchen counter...the one that hadn't rung in days. He was fatigued and felt dirty, and images from the previous Friday were still dancing around unscathed and fancy-free inside his head.

Something impulsive inside him-- something restless and irrational-- told him to leave the house. He needed to get out. He'd called in work to sick the past few days, and it was getting ridiculous. It was time to snap out of whatever haze this was that had a hold of him-- he couldn't put his life on hold for her forever.

Well, maybe just for a little longer.

He was leaving, but he knew where he was going. He didn't know why. Maybe it was just his the hopeless romantic inside him. Maybe it was the masochist. Either way, he grabbed his canvas army bag filled with almost every clothing item he owned and headed out the door. He knew he'd be disappointed, but he had to be with her one last time. Even if she wasn't there.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO End Chapter 6. Continued in Chapter 7. 


	7. Chapter 7

Can someone tell me the point in reviewing only to say "you were right, this chapter wasn't very exciting or interesting" when I'd JUST prefaced the chapter with that admission? That's like trying to contribute to a debate by saying only "I agree." Rather pointless, in my opinion. If you have constructive criticism, I'd be more than happy to hear it. If you are only cluttering the review section with zingers such as "This chapter was uninteresting"...well...I'd prefer you not. 

Sorry this took so long. I went out of town on a few different occasions, and exams, and life. You know...general interference. It's hard juggling 2 stories. I don't want the quality of either to suffer.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A baby wailed in its mother's arms. The unforgiving fluorescent lights in the ceiling flickered on and off, threatening never to ignite again. The 100-year-old driers rattled and shook with their spinning, scratching the floor and the 3 customers' ears. It was a typical weeknight at the Laund-O-rama.

Ross stood on the other side of the door, peering through the wide plate of glass. He'd been standing that way for almost an entire minute, now, terrified to set even one foot inside. The place looked so dismal. All the customers looked so depressed and bitter, clad in faded tones and frowns.

One looked especially bitter and lonesome. She was sitting by herself in the corner, eyes fixated on her glaring laptop screen, just as they'd been every time before. He hadn't taken his eyes off her since he'd been standing there. She was more terrifying than even that unidentified brown stain in the center of the cracked-tile floor.

He watched her and debated with himself.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"So stupid," Rachel spat, cursing herself for ever having come here tonight.

She hadn't really expected anything. No, that was a lie. She'd expected everything. She'd expected him. She didn't know why, really. It wasn't even their usual Friday night. Something had told her he would be there, though. That something had obviously been a liar. Maybe it had been her conscience. Or her judgment. They were equal impostures. 

She closed the laptop screen and set it inside her bag. Her clothed had been done a good half hour ago. She'd stayed there, pathetic and hopeful, just in case. Now, that decision made her want to cry. She would at least wait until she got home. She stood up and turned to leave.

She froze.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Shit," he cursed, realizing she'd seen him. Now he just looked like an idiot. He should have gone inside to begin with.

He would have turned to leave if her eyes weren't locked so intensely on him. She was watching him work all of this out in his head-- debating with himself. Should he go? Should he stay? Was it too late, either way? Was she with this other guy already? Had she been with him the whole time, and he had been right all along? Had he forgotten how devastatingly beautiful she was? Yes. That last one wasn't debatable. All these thoughts were painted across his face so clearly, and she was reading and processing all of them. He was an open book when it came to women, especially this woman.

Not knowing what else to do-- and not really having much of a choice-- he pulled what was probably the most awkward, clumsy, panicky thing possible.

He smiled and waved.

'What the hell was THAT?' he thought to himself. Fucking idiot. Of all the ways he'd been imagining this reunion over the pass few days-- for all the things he'd wanted to scream and all the explanations he'd want to demand and all the different ways he'd imagined kissing her and making love to her again-- smiling and waving had DEFINITELY been the very last things on his 'to do' list. Life is funny that way.

Appropriately enough, however, she smiled and waved back.

And all of those things he'd just mentally listed to do-- all of the screaming and demanding-- evaporated.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Hey," he whispered gracelessly, smiling his patented crooked smile. He let go of a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when she smiled back.

"Hey you."

Awkward silence.

"So, um, I just had some laundry to do here..." he trailed off, gesturing lamely towards his full bag.

"Oh, sure, yeah!" she nodded ardently. "Me too!" Alright, Rachel, calm down. You're smiling and babbling like an idiot. Just be cool.

Awkward Silence.

"I've missed you." She exhaled and shut her eyes. Screw being cool. Just be honest.

"Wow, really?" he asked, obviously relieved. "Because I've been thinking...this is crazy."

"Yeah?" she asked, reaching out instinctively to touch his arm. He flinched, but in a good way. She noticed.

"Yeah," he smiled, taking her hand in his. 'Woah there, boy,' he had to remind himself. 'There's a reason you were so pissed off. She's beautiful and sexy and you are quite possibly in love with her, but don't jump the gun, here.'

"You're thinking about Mark, aren't you?" she asked worriedly. She read his mind. Somehow, that didn't surprise him.

"Oh, so he's got a name?" he joked, only really half joking. If he was going to admit to her ability to read him, through and through, without fault, he'd at least have to be somewhat comical about it. She smiled warmly and rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb.

"Do you want to talk about this somewhere that's a little less...here?" she asked. "I mean, I know you still have laundry to do, but--"

"No, that can wait," he interrupted assuredly. Pause. "I mean, I've been wearing this same underwear for a few days, now, anyway, so..." She laughed aloud.

"Come on."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Do you want more coffee?" he asked, noticing her empty mug. She looked down as if she were noticing it for the first time, too.

"Oh, no thanks." She pushed the mug away from her. He rolled up his sleeves and took another swig of his second cup. She played with her hair nervously through the silences. He noticed and smiled.

"So is this guy dangerous?" he asked after a while without talking. She looked up into his eyes seriously.

She'd told him the whole story. She's told him everything-- even more than she'd told that damned incompetent psychiatrist she'd visited for a long weeks afterwards. She'd had to stop a few times to collect her thoughts, and those calms were the times he most felt like jamming his own foot up his ass. He'd been so insensitive and judgmental. As it turned out, she hated this guy even more than he did...if that were possible.

"Oh, no, I don't think so," she assured him, although her tone sounded as if she needed some assurance, herself.

"Did he every hurt you?" he asked, rather boisterously. This caught her off guard. She found herself rather defensive about the question, for some reason. She shook her head wildly.

"No, Ross, you don't understand. It wasn't like that. He--"

"Don't make excuses for this guy, Rachel," he interrupted, his voice commanding. She looked into his eyes and saw something passionate and feral in them. He was angry and defensive, himself, about all this. He was trying to protect her. She could tell.

"I'm not making excuses. He never hurt me," she stated, matter of factly.

"Yeah, well," Ross scoffed, "I guess that depends on how you interpret the word 'hurt'. I saw how he was treating you on the dance floor. It seemed like he was pretty used to having his way with you."

"Hey," she spoke up, raising her voice. Her eyes now held that same passion. She pointed her finger at him. "Don't presume to know everything about me, Ross. I had a life before you. I know how to handle myself. I'm not as naive as I think you'd like to believe."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked. This conversation was turning quickly from intimate and quiet to charged.

"It MEANS," she emphasized, "that I'm not going to play the innocent damsel in distress for you. I'm not going to apologize to you for my relationship with Mark and I'm not going to dredge up the past just so yours can be the arms I fall into." She was on a roll. His jaw was locked open. He didn't know what to say.

"Rachel, that's not what I--"

"It seems like every man I meet wants to 'save me', Ross. They see my past and my hang-ups and my baggage and they identify with it...like I know you did." She paused after this last comment, letting it sink in. He didn't refute her argument. He knew she was right. "They think I'm going to help them 'find themselves' while they try to make me better...whatever 'better' even means. Well, you know what? I've got my problems. Who doesn't? I've got a past, and a lot of it sucks. A lot. But if you want to be with me, now...be with me NOW. Don't worry about how I've messed up in the past, and don't try to be the one who helps me not mess up in the future. Just be with me."

He didn't really know what to say. She was right, though. He had seem her as a way to 'find himself'-- to straighten up all the shit in his life. He forget Carol. To stop being lonely. To find love again. To find meaning and justification. He'd expected it from her, really, and that was perhaps his first mistake. You should never expect anything from someone you've just met.

"You're right," he finally decided on. It was the most honest version of what he was thinking.

"I know," she nodded, not backing down or softening up.

Awkward pause.

"Do you, uh...Do you think it's too late to start over?"

"Start over from where?"

"Well," he paused. "from where I walked into a laundry mat...saw the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen...and started wanting to spend every moment of every day with her, right then."

"Damn you and your perfect answers," she teased. He smiled charmingly, as usual. It faded after a moment, and he took her hand.

"Rachel, listen..." he began, "You're right. I think I expected too much from you. Maybe the worst thing I expected was for you to leave your baggage at the door, and that's impossible. I just...I just want to be with you. Now. Whatever that means, I'll do it."

"What about Mark?" she asked. She was testing him.

"Screw Mark. Screw any former boyfriends or lovers or vices or neurosis. I trust you. I have to...you kind of took my heart and ran with it."

And, once again, he melted her heart.

"Okay then..." she agreed, nodding and extending her hand to shake his in a formal agreement. "Let's get out of here." He chuckled and shook her hand in compliance.

"Gladly."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

He threw her onto the bed and took delight in the girly squeal she emitted as her back met the cushiony mattress. Immediately, he was on top of her, and she welcomed him eagerly. Even a week away from his lips and touch was too much. She'd forgotten how careful he was, but how good. He was so good.

"Take off your clothes," he whispered in her ear, as he did the same with his.

He wouldn't be taking all the time tonight that he normally did. He was too starved for her. She was as beautiful as ever and he was still trying to swallow the fact that he was allowed to touch her again. A few days ago, he was bordering clinical depression upon the realization that he hadn't in days. He was like a drug addict terrified of withdrawal. They might each have their own separate baggage, but the irony was that they were quickly becoming one another's.

Meanwhile, she was loving how rough and commanding her was being. That was the one thing that she'd liked and missed about Mark. He'd taken it too far and he'd gone about it the wrong way, and the thought of him may have disgusted her now, but he had been one of the only men who hadn't expected her to be the one to take control. Like she'd said, every man before had always put the weight on her shoulders-- sexually, romantically, and emotionally. She'd had to carry them the whole way-- be their 'cure'. She liked that he wasn't afraid to be the one to cure her. He noticed that she liked it.

"Is this what Mark did?" he asked, being sure to exemplify 'this' by kissing her exceptionally hard on her neck and grabbing at her waist and she squirmed beneath him. He didn't think this qualified as breaching the 'leaving the past behind' pact they'd made. He was simply teasing her, and perhaps marking his territory, as well-- stressing that whatever any man may have done in the past, the present was HIS.

"Yes," she whispered in a small voice, closing her eyes and arching her back to signal him to continue. His hands quickly to the opening in his boxers. Tonight was about quality, not quantity. It might not last long, but it didn't need to. They just needed to be together again like this and reestablish themselves. It felt so much better-- more comfortable-- when they were together. They both needed that again.

He threw her thighs roughly apart and settled between them, their bodies nearly sliding off the side of the bed. His feet were still touching the floor. It didn't matter. They didn't have time to do this neatly. He slid his hands underneath her ass to push roughly in and out of her, listening to her scream and moan the whole time. He might have even been hurting her, but he didn't stop to check. If she needed him to stop, she'd tell him.

"It'sokaykeepgoing," she slurred together, reading his mind, her voice breathy and rushed. She ran her hands up and down his back, over his ass, the top of his thighs, his hair. Everything she could reach. She pulled him harder and deeper inside her. This was unhealthy. Maybe even a little crazy. Neither cared.

He pushed into her a few final times so hard that he lifted her complete off the bed. She might have screamed, but he didn't heart it. He was already gone. When he came too, he was literally kneeling on the floor with her pinned between him and the bed. He'd never been so sweaty and sticky and exhausted. He felt her kiss his neck and the action pulled him back to reality.

"Are you okay?" he finally asked, now that the moment was over. He prayed to God she'd say 'yes'. He'd been too rough. He hadn't been able to control himself. He sighed with relief when she nodded and smiled weakly.

"Come here," she coaxed, pulling him up onto the bed with her. He laid on top of her with his head on her breast, their legs and arms intertwined. She brushed her fingers through his sweat-matted hair. He kissed her collarbone.

Maybe this was just the first in a series of unfortunate events that would only ever lead them back to one another, and, subsequently, to an addictive, noxious relationship. Maybe they were ill-fated-- ill-matched, star-crossed and doomed to one another. Maybe they were just defenseless victims of fate-- two lines converging at the same point at the same exact time. Whatever they were, one thing was for sure: they were stuck, for better or for worse, with one another. 


	8. Chapter 8

Wow, sorry it's been so long. REALLY, terribly sorry. I'm now the collegiate equivalent of a "second semester senior", though, so I guess in beginning the celebrated "senior slack", I've decided to take some down time away from studying and whatnot and update. 

Overall, updates should be coming significantly more frequently, now. I'd wager once a week, probably. On a good day. Maybe. :-)

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Rachel squinted her eyes open at the soft sound of knocking on her front door. She whimpered in frustration and glanced over at her bright red alarm clock, which insisted that it was only 9 a.m. on a Saturday morning, meaning that the visitor could only be one of two people: Erica coming back from a routine one-night stand, or Satan, himself.

"Erica!?" she shouted, her voice cracking slightly as her vocal chords had not been adequately warmed up yet.

"What?!" she heard her sassy roommate snap back, obviously having been disturbed from slumber. Well, that ruled out that possibility.

'There's better be a bull-like man with horns and a trident standing on the other side of that door when I open it, then' she cynically contemplated as she rolled from her cozy haven and padded huffily to the front door. Light was seeping into the living room from cracks in the closed drapes, and Rachel groaned in protest as the rays hit her eyes.

"Who is it?" she demanded, her voice still filled with fatigue and annoyance.

"The Love Doctor," she heard muttered from the other side of the door, causing her to smile in spite of herself. Ah, yes. Of course.

"We don't want any," she jibed, crossing her arms over her chest, turning and actually considering doing it, leaving him stranded alone out in the hallway.

"Alright, then how about Jude Law?" She actually giggled aloud this time and stopped in her tracks. Begrudgingly, she turned around on her heels and rolled her eyes at herself. 'So weak, Rachel,' she berated. 'You're so weak.'

"If I open this door, I'm expecting a flawless Englishman and an equally flawless British accent," she warned, precipitately unlocking the door, anyway, without requiring him to prove himself. An already awkward, Jewish Long Islander trying to pull off a classy English brogue was the last thing she needed to endure this morning.

She opened the door to a surprisingly refined Ross. He was wearing a brown pair of cotton dress pants and a tucked-in, light pink, button-down dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair was jelled and he smelled faintly of after-shave. She cocked an eyebrow and found it difficult to glance away. He undoubtedly looked very sexy, in that classy, metrosexual kind of way. He grinned wickedly, telling her that he knew it.

"Wow, did you get hit by a Banana Republic truck on your way over here?" she quipped, but they both knew it was just a feeble attempt at veiling her increasing, undeniable attraction to him. She was practically drooling.

"I'll choose to ignore that while you pick your jaw up off the floor," he retaliated, brushing past her into the apartment, grinning like an idiot.

"Jack-ass," she murmured, locking the door behind him and beginning to amble back into her bedroom.

"Where you going?" he asked, hot on her heels in pursuit.

"Back to sleep," she deadpanned, not stopping or even turning to look back at him.

"Come on, the day's half shot! We've got things to do! People to meet..."

"Or assassinate..." she retorted, making it up the stairs and back into her bed.

She pulled the comforter up over her head and pretended to actually be attempting more sleep. They both knew she wouldn't be able to do it now that he was here, though. Secretly, wrapped inside her retreat, she was smiling at how effortless and comfortably their jabber was this morning-- how domestic-- and at how their relationship had apparently just reached a stage where it was acceptable to drop in, unannounced, first thing in the morning. She felt him lay down beside her on the bed, and even through the several layers of sheets, his proximity to her could make her tremble.

He carefully pulled back the sheets from over her head and nuzzled his nose into the back of her neck, draping an arm over her and spooning in behind her. She desperately tried suffocating the imminent giggles she felt welling up inside her upon his each and every touch, but, just like every other time, she was unsuccessful. She was literally giddy around him. She couldn't deny it. She couldn't deny him.

"If you just came over for a morning quicky--" she began, but he cut her off by sliding his tongue over her ear.

"I know you're not a sex-in-the-morning kind of girl," he revealed. The intimacy of him knowing that made her even more smitten. She merely nodded and closed her eyes, letting the sweet smell of his cologne and aftershave waft over her. One of his hands was massaging her lower back, while the other played with her hair. The concentricity of the combination relaxed her, and she could literally feel her muscles and tension loosening and washing away.

She turned to face him and buried her face in his chest, wrapping her arms around his middle and kissing his throat where the top button was undone on his shirt. There was just no way she was going to hold out on her 'hard-to-get ice queen' act while he was looking and smelling like he did.

"This is nice," he admitted. The discrepancy between the 'suave, cool' way he'd been acting up until now and these completely honest, sweet words was noticeable, but Rachel chose not to call him out on it. She knew the real Ross wasn't this Don Juan-esque guy who'd shown up at her door. He looked the part, alright, but he was still just a big teddy bear at heart. He only furthered this perception by adding a very honest "I like being with you in the morning".

"So what exactly DID you come here for?" she asked. Ah, the inevitable. Part of her hoped it was just for this-- to hold her and sleep with her-- but she knew he wouldn't be dressed like he was, if that were the case.

"I want to show you something," he bared, stroking her back beneath her top and tracing lazy circles over her skin.

"Mmm, do I have to get dressed?" she whined.

"I'm really not the guy to give an objective answer to that question," he joked, and she swatted him playfully on the arm. Sitting up and scooting off the bed, she left him laying there amongst the mess of sheets and pillows.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Ross, this is ridiculous!" she griped. "First, we walked, like, a MILE to the subway station. Then, we drove around for at least an hour in that God-awful, disgusting cab with the smelly driver, and now you have me hiking up what seems to be Manhattan's Everest-of-a-hill! Unless this place you're taking me is actually Heaven, itself, I don't see how this could POSSIBLY be worth it!"

Ross chuckled to himself and looked down at where his feet were beating relentlessly against the sidewalk's pavement. This girl had no idea. She'd be eating her words in about 10 minutes. Instead of informing her of this, however, he merely reached over and intertwined her fingers with his, bringing her hand up to his mouth and kissing the back of it.

"We're almost there," he assured her.

After another complaint-filled minutes, thanks to Rachel, the pair reached their destination. Rachel stood gaping at the scene before her, literally breathless, holding her hand over her mouth. It was one of the most beautiful panoramas she'd ever beheld.

They'd reached the peak of a large hill on the outskirts of the city, which served as an accommodation for several penthouses and chateaus they were built into the side of it. It was several hundred feet high and contained what was probably the only significant amount of grassy land on the island, besides the Park, or course. There were trees and flowers scattered all around the top of the small mountain, and the entire city could be seen from where they were standing. It being almost dusk, as it was, the lights were beginning to ignite and the empirical skyline was just now drawing its famed distinction. They were witnessing, front and center, the prime of the number-one tourist spot in the country.

This was not even the most staggering thing about this spot that Ross had led her to. Directly in front of them was a small, rustic-looking, rod-iron gate set beneath an arch of vines and lilies. It was the entrance to a small, secluded garden.

"Ross, this is..." she trailed off, shaking her head and literally at a loss for words. She continued to stare out over the city, letting the night's inaugural wind ruffle her hair and wisp around her skin, giving her goosebumps.

"I know," he nodded, agreeing with whatever adjective she might have chosen. Whatever it was, it would have been inadequate to describe the scene they were surveying, but he knew too well the emotion that was being evoked inside her at that moment. It was undoubtedly the exact same emotion he'd felt stir within himself when he'd visited this place for the first time.

From behind her, he placed his hands lightly on her sides and urged her forward through the gate, each of them having to bend a little to fit. Once inside, Rachel realized the 'garden' was actually a miniature version of what a garden might be, if it weren't dwarfed by its surroundings and landscaping. It was open and airy, and the fence around the outside only rose to Rachel's waist. There were small cobblestones leading around the bends and curvatures of it, provoking its visitors into its secret little caverns and clandestine hideaways. Thought it was small (probably only about 50 yards in diameter), it was thickly furnished with a plethora of vines and flowers and small trees. One could most certainly get lost for hours in there, if they were so inclined.

Rachel almost forgot about Ross' presence as she took in the impossibly beautiful, quaint little plot, but she was reminded when she felt his hand slide around her waist from behind and his chin come to rest on her shoulder. He turned her so they were, once again, facing the ravine before the city. Even in the moments they'd been looking away, it seemed that at least a thousand more lights might have lit up.

"What is this place?" she asked, not sure what she was actually asking or how he'd answer. It was a garden, quite obviously, and she knew that was probably the extent of its classification. It seemed too majestic to be just ANY garden, though. Part of her didn't think she'd be surprised if he answered with 'Eden'.

"I don't know," he confessed, kissing her shoulder. "I stumbled across it during a morning jog in college. It was like it rose up from nowhere. I didn't even see it until I was right on top of it."

"Does someone own it?" she asked, closing her eyes and rolling her head to one side to allow him to kiss her more easily there.

"I've never seen anyone else up here," he revealed, shrugging his shoulders.

Upon hearing those words, something suddenly occurred to Rachel, and she felt instantly guilty. The thought inundated her, though, so she had to ask.

"Have you ever _brought_ anyone else up here?" she asked, her voice small and curious.

He suddenly stopped his ministrations on her neck, and she felt his body stiffen behind her. She could tell she'd struck a nerve. Whatever it was that had just come between them, she knew instantly, without doubt, that it was what he'd brought her here to talk about.

"Ross?" she beckoned, provoking him to say whatever it was that had suddenly upset him.

"Come here, I want to talk to you," he all but whispered, and he took her hand and led her over to the back corner of the garden, to a nook where the fence had fallen over and a small, dilapidated, antique-looking bench barely held its frame. He sat her down there, before the city, in all its glory, and the wood creaked beneath their combined weight.

"What is it?" she asked, the energy between them slowly icing over, as if all the millions of invisible molecules that had been racing back and forth kinetically between them before had all congealed and frozen in place. They had never had a moment as somber as this, even for all their fights. The air was thick with secrecy and apprehension.

"There's something you don't know about me..." he began, not sure of how he was going to start.

"There are a lot of things I don't know about you," she pointed out, trying to lighten the moment. It worked, at least momentarily, and she succeeded in provoking a small smile from him.

"Yeah, well, this particular thing is sort of...um..." He hesitated, taking her hands in his and furrowing his brow, searching for some insight. "Well, uh, I think it's important that you know it."

"Okay..." she braced herself, searching his eyes for some sort of reassurance. Something told her this revelation wouldn't exactly be bad, per se, but would definitely blindside her. It was just not occurring to her how little she and Ross DID know about each other, even after so long. Aside from their past dysfunctional sex lives, they really knew close to nothing. She rolled the enumerate possibilities over inside her mind. 'Oh, God, please don't let him be gay...or married...or a felon...or...'

"I used to be married," he blurted, as if he could read her thoughts and was trying to stop her from getting any further into her list of bizarre conjectures.

She was stunned. This revelation was far from derailing, but it had definitely taken her by surprise. Somehow, she was afraid to look at him, now, because she was terrified of seeing a different man entirely. Part of her liked the ambiguity of their relationship-- the freshness of it, and the way it'd allowed them to forget select parts of their past. From the way he'd said it, Rachel thought maybe this former marriage was a part of Ross' life he'd have chosen to forget, if he could. Maybe she would have chosen that, too. Exposures such as these left too much room for change. Change, obviously, scared the shit out of them both.

"Say something," he pleaded, though it actually more closely resembled a statement than a request.

"Yeah, sorry, I...um...How-how long ago?"

"About 3 years," he disclosed. "We were both in Grad school. She was my first love, and we'd been dating for a few years, and everyone was telling me to just do it, so...I proposed..." he rambled. "Here."

Upon his last word, Rachel looked down at where she was sitting with a look of confusion mixed with disdain-- like the quaint little bench that had just been there had suddenly transformed into something else-- something tainted.

"Like,_here_ here?" she asked, pointing down at the bench. He nodded, almost regretfully.

"I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't have brought you here to tell you, it's just that--"

"Yeah, maybe not," she confirmed, realizing now just now uncomfortable and, oddly enough, jealous all of this was making her. She stood up and walked over to the bent fence and stood with her back to him, inhaling deeply and struggling to process all of this. Ross had been married. So? It wasn't like he was STILL married. Why did this bother her so much?

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, obviously embarrassed and feeling like a jerk. "I just wanted you to know. I realize, now, that I'm not even sure why," he admitted, chuckling at his own obtuseness. Of course something like this would make her distressed. Maybe she'd see this as a form of dishonesty. Maybe she'd never be able to look at him the same way, now.

She turned around from staring out over the city and faced him, hands on her hips in her classic defense pose. Her face was serious but hopeful. She hadn't closed down completely. She was still seeking answers within him. She was still interested-- wanted to understand this better.

"Are you still friends with this woman?" she asked, her voice steady and immaculately careful. Her emotions were right on the surface, threatening to bleed through, but she held her composure. So Rachel.

"No," he shook his head. "I haven't even seen her since she moved out. She sent me an e-mail a few months ago, but..." He debated whether or not he should finish the sentence the way he'd meant to. It would either hearten or disilluation her-- either drawn her nearer or scare her away. He decided to say it, anyway. "...but I deleted it the night I met you."

He saw her face relax and the warm, familiarity reenter it, and he sighed with relief. Always go with your first instinct. He knew he could be honest with her, even if it was indirectly, about how deeply she touched and moved him.

"Well, then, um...Why didn't things work out between you?" she wagered. She hoped this wasn't too sensitive or prying a question.

"She was a lesbian," he bombshelled, stating it straight-faced and flawlessly, without mercy or hesitation. It sounded almost rehearsed. He'd most likely had to explain his failed marriage many times before, she considered.

"Oh..." She felt so stupid, now. This poor, tortured man had been degraded and embarrassed-- dumped by the woman he'd loved-- and all Rachel had wanted to do was to assign blame. He'd felt comfortable enough with her to share such a lonely, personal time in his life, and she'd overreacted and gotten defensive. "I'm sorry," was all she could manage, and it was a painfully weak sentiment, devoid of comfort or even assurance.

"Hey..." he sighed, tipping her chin up with his index finger so he could look into her eyes, "don't be sorry." He shook his head and smiled warmly. "I'm not."

"So is this what you brought me here for?" she chuckled, and immediately regretted doing so, in case that had been his sole intent and her laughter at degraded the gesture.

"No," he shook his head calmly, still staring unfalteringly into her eyes. "I brought you here because..." He vacillated, hesitant about the seemingly momentous gesture he was about to make. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them, he saw her piercing blue eyes gazing back intently at him, hanging on his every word, and he suddenly felt safe enough to say it.

"Because I wanted to continue the tradition of only showing this place to the woman I love."

There. He'd said it. If he were being honest with himself, he'd been thinking it since that second night he'd met her-- the night they'd made love for the first time-- but it wasn't until recently that the inclination had branded itself into his brain, refusing to leave or even diminish. He loved her. He'd known her a matter of months, and he loved her more than he'd loved his wife, if that were possible. She smiled widely, her eyes piercing his with their intense warmth and her notorious giggle traveling melodious from her throat to his ears. He basked in it. This moment was the first (and maybe last) true fairytale, time-standing-still one of his life, and he knew that he'd remember it forever-- everything about it. He'd remember the way her laugh sounded, high-pitched but soft at the same time, the way her eyes had lit up, the way she'd placed her hands on his shoulders and smiled so widely and giddily (he'd made a girl giddy!), the way the wind had so strategically tousled her hair.

"So, um, do these many, MANY woman always love you back?" She teased, smiling widely and obviously just toying with him. He smiled initially and shook his head at the way she'd forever tease him, but suddenly the smile vanished from his face and he looked at stared with the utmost longing and passion.

"God, I hope so," he breathed, shaking his head in disbelief that this beautiful woman was even sitting here-- that this moment was real and she could even CONSIDER loving him. She rubbed his knee delicately and gazed back with equal fervor.

"Just don't break the girl's heart after you bring her here, okay?" she beseeched, her tone the most heart-melting combination of fear and hope. Could it possibly be that this girl loved and needed him as much as he did her?

In response, he took her face in his hand and pressed his lips firmly to hers, crushing their mouths together. Her hands went instinctively around his wrists, and they instantaneously deepened it, pushing their tongues against each other's as he moved his hands into her hair and she moved hers to his waist.

Just then, seemingly from nowhere, the sky opened up the Heavens began to weep, pouring down their torrential showers onto the pair of intertwined lovers. They didn't budge, though-- didn't even react. They continued their kissing, never attempting to make or more. They sat there on that bench for hours, overlooking the city, kissing and laughing and touching-- each undertaking serving as its own assertion of what they'd found there that day.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO End Chapter 8. Continued in Chapter 9.


	9. Chapter 9

The way I'm imagining it, Ross and Rachel are dressed in this chapter very similarly to the way they were in TOW Monica's Thunder, but I guess you can imagine them however you'd like -) 

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Can you hold that?" Rachel yelled, stepping into the lobby of her building and seeing the elevator doors about to shut. She ran and barely made it inside, panting and rearranging the shipping bags in her hands. She was soaking wet from the near-hurricane that had been disquieting the city streets all day, and, quite perceptibly to her onlookers, in a big hurry.

When she finally made it to her floor, she all but sprinted to her apartment, jamming the key into the lock and slamming the door behind her.

"You're late!" Erica screamed from the couch.

"I know!" she yelled back, her voice laced with a very prominent 'don't start with me' tone. Erica got up to meet her roommate in the middle of the living room, taking her bags from her and hurrying her to shed her drenched coat.

"Isn't he going to be here in like 30 minutes?" she enquired, aiding Rachel in discarding her soaked-through blouse. She was a woman late for a date. There was no time for modesty or convention.

"Yes!" she answered, having already stripped down to her underwear and advancing up the stairs for the bathroom. "There must have been a traffic jam on every street for 30 blocks, and I couldn't get a cab because of the rain," Rachel could be heard yelling from the upstairs bathroom. The water switched on, and Erica could just barely hear her crazed roommate's final statement over the noise and the closed door. "This city's gone fucking mad!"

Only some 5 minutes later, Erica heard the bathroom door swing open and her friend running across the hall into her bedroom. She smiled at the adolescentness of the whole ordeal. She felt like she was 16 again, helping her best friend get ready for her first date with the school's 'super dreamy' quarterback. She collapsed into the cushiony sofa and turned on the TV.

"Don't wear the lacy underwear," she called up the stairs, the discomfiture such a brazen statement would usually hold proving nonexistent between the two girls.

"Why the hell not?" she heard Rachel call back from upstairs.

"That black dress is way too flimsy. You'd be able to see the panty line right through it. Go with sheer- it's lighter," she lectured. In her bedroom, Rachel smiled to herself. Erica knew her so well. She was the best, most advantageous roommate a girl could ask for- experienced in all the femininities and willing to divulge her secrets.

Rachel checked herself in the full-length mirror in her room, straightening her dress and flattening the material out over her body. It was a short, strapless black dress with a slit up one side that fit her tightly. It was elegantly simple, but seamless- much like Rachel, herself. She had no time for reflection, though, so she slipped on her strappy stiletto heels and began blow-drying her hair. She had just enough time to finger-brush it before she heard the buzzer.

"Erica, can you get that?" she hollered, immediately thinking better of it. As much as she loved Erica, she knew she was a lot to take, and she'd prefer it if Ross spent as little time as possible around her until their relationship was more solidified. Erica could scare off even the manliest, most confident of men.

As she rounded the banister to the left at the bottom of the stairs, she was met with the such a spectacle that she couldn't help but giggle to herself. Erica, clad in tattered boxers and a ratty old oversized t-shirt, was holding the door open to an already intimidated Ross. There was just something about Erica that made guys' knees shake, and it wasn't always sexual. When he saw Rachel, he smiled, and she could have sworn she also saw him exhale deeply in what was a distinct sigh of relief.

She smiled back as she approached him, silently acknowledging that she understand what discomfort she was saving him from. She put her arm lovingly around Erica's waist to wordlessly dismiss her roommate.

"You look great," he offered, grinning like an idiot from ear to ear.

"Thanks," she blushed, though he looked rather sharp, himself.

This was the most dressed-up she'd ever seen him, including the night of the ball. He was wearing black slacks and a light blue collared dress shirt, with a black tie and gray jacket. His hair was gelled and he smelled faintly of aftershave. To say that he 'cleaned up nicely' would be the understatement of the year.

"So you ready for our first official date?" he asked, sticking his hands into his pockets and rocking nervously back and forth.

"That feels weird to say, doesn't it?" She'd almost laughed aloud when he'd uttered the words. After all they'd been through, it was hard to believe tonight marked the 'official' beginning of their 'relationship'.

"Yeah, a little bit," he confirmed grudgingly, "but it doesn't really matter what we call it as long as you're wearing that dress." He smiled charmingly, knowing exactly how far flattery got him with her: a hell of a long way.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

They strolled elegantly down one of the only remaining cobblestone streets in the Village, originally constructed in the 1790s but remained somehow preserved through Manhattan's redistricting around the turn of the centory. The tour buses couldn't even fit down these quaint, narrow side streets, like they existed in their own little world, away from the busy chaos of the rest of the metropolitan island.

Vibrantly green saplings lined the sidewalks and their branches bent over the avenue to form a thin, blanketing canopy that the dying rays of sunlight could just barely infuse, casting a glittering illumination over the lovers as they strolled, hand in hand. Ross stopped and bent down, picking up a light pink blossom that had fallen from one of the overhead trees near his feet and placing it carefully behind Rachel's ear.

"This is weird..." Ross revealed, taking Rachel's hand in his again and beginning to walk.

"What is?"

"This," he elaborated without really elaborating, pointing to her and then to himself. "Us. It's, uh...it's strange how comfortable it feels." She smiled. He was always such an eloquent, articulate speaker, but as soon as he started referencing her or 'them', he stammered over his thoughts like an awkward school boy.

"Well, I guess that's just one of the many perks of having sex before the first date," she joked. He rolled his eyes but smiled widely and nodded. "Get rid of all that unspoken curiosity right off the bat."

"No, but really. Don't you think it's a little...spooky, almost?" he enquired.

"Why should it be spooky?" she challenged, true to form.

"I don't know..." he trailed off, shaking his head and searching for the right explanation. "I mean, we don't exactly have a lot in common. We have really different career goals, different backgrounds, different friends..."

"You don't even know my friends," she pointed out, which ultimately only strengthened his case.

"Exactly!" he punctuated. "I really don't know much about you at all, except..."

"Except what?" she probed, seeing that he was apparently lost in thought and wanting greatly to hear the end of his sentence. She squeezed his hand in encouragement. Still walking, he turned his head up from the ground to hers, his face expressionless to any casual onlooker, but, to her, filled with the most heartened sentiment. He took a deep breath.

"Except the way you make me feel." He clenched his jaw the way he only did when being especially serious. If she knew something that intimate about him, did it really matter that she'd never met his friends? She leaned into him and rested her head against his shoulder as they continued to walk.

"Do you think that's crazy?" he continued, and it was obvious to her that he was genuinely asking and not just making off-the-cup conversation. She considered this for a moment before shaking he head. He felt it on his bicep.

"No," she whispered. "And if it is, I guess we'll just be crazy together."

"Good," he whispered back, nodding and taking his hand from her to slide it around her waist. "Here, this place has great frozen yogurt." He guided her through the door of the small, independently owned ice cream parlor with his fingers grazing the small of her back. It gave her the chills.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

When they got back to Ross' place, Carver, thankfully, had gone out for the night. Ross was relieved and a little surprised that his normally selfish and socially obtuse roommate would be so considerate. While Rachel headed into the living room, Ross removed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves, opening up the fridge and retrieving two bottles of beer.

"Sorry," he smiled as he approached her with the two wet bottles. "All out of wine." He plopped down beside her on the couch and set the two beers on the coffee table in front of them, beads of condensation already inching their way towards the wood's surface. It was humid in his apartment, and he tugged at his tie and unfastened the top button of his collared shirt.

"You alright?" he asked. He'd noticed a few minutes ago how she'd been staring right through him, seemingly out of the giant, plate glass window behind him. Maybe she'd just been lost in thought, though, 'staring' at nothing but space.

"Huh?" she mumbled. It had obviously been the latter. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine," she smiled.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he wagered, and, upon looking at him, she couldn't remember a time he'd looked more adorable innocent or...infatuated with her. She sighed heavily.

In the back of her mind, she knew she should tell him. On the one hand, she felt accountable to him and the guilt of leaving him in the dark about this was arresting her with overwhelming shame. But on the other hand, she could feel her reason wavering and giving way to emotion, and right now the feeling of his tongue sliding over her neck and the weight of his hand on her upper thigh were drowning out all sagacity. He felt so good. No man had ever felt this good before. She knew if she told him now, she'd not only permanently ruin this moment, but she'd break his heart. Looking into his eyes when she said it would be enough to break her own.

She was not lying to him, really- just protecting him from avoidable headache and heartache. If she were being honest with herself, lame justifications such as that one were holding little water with her conscience and alleviating little remorse, but his tongue was in her ear and his hand had made its way underneath her dress to the bare skin of her inner thigh. Soon, his fingers would be abrading the fabric of her underwear and her head would float up instantaneously to the clouds and all thoughts would flee from her mind for the evening.

God, just let her have this night with him. Even if it was their last.

"Seriously, Rachel, is something wrong?" he whispered, his breath rugged and his lips grazing her earlobe. Uh oh, she'd been so lost in thought that her anxiety must have been showing. She quickly cleared all thoughts of her moral impasse from her mind and shook her head, smiling confidently and draping her arms around his shoulders.

"No, nothing," she confirmed. She leaned back into their kiss, taking it upon herself to deepen it. Egged on by the feeling of her tongue forcing its way deep into his mouth, he ran his free hand down her back and over the top of her ass. He had no idea that her sudden aggressiveness was her own way of smothering any doubts.

Suddenly, things were moving faster than their initial pace had ordered, and he was somehow finding himself with his pants unbuttoned and her straddling his lap with her dress up around her waist. While his groin was telling him to keep going, something about all of this just felt...off. He'd sensed some sort of wall between them in that first kiss so many minutes ago, and it hadn't disappeared. If anything, it had only intensified. He placed his hands on her waist and pushed her back.

"Rachel," he almost pleaded. He searched her face for some sign of...something. He didn't want to admit that he was looking for guilt, but that's what it felt like she was hiding. He could tell these things about her. He might not know her parents' first names, or her childhood best friend, or how old she was when she lost her virginity, but he knew her emotions- her essence.

"What?" she asked, but the only thing shading her voice was a slight twinge of frustration. He cocked an eyebrow, searching her one last time. There was a very palpable rigidity between them, now, but he could let it go if she would just give him some reassurance-something to tell him it was okay to continue without feeling like one of them was being dishonest.

"Look, everything's alright," she ensured him, taking his face in her hands and locking her eyes with his. He wanted to believe her, but something inside him- something inherent and refined- told him this moment would prove to be more poignant in the future than either of them knew, right now. There was nothing he could do, though, besides trust her. Nodding as a sign of his instilled faith, he placed his hands back on her waist, resuming their kiss.

As he unzipped the back of her dress and felt her wiggle out of it, he could already sense something different in her kisses- something that had never been there before. It was like the opposite of confidence, but not powerful enough to be doubt. It was a hesitance- a guardedness. It was like she wanted to be kissing him, but didn't want to want it. It was like their first time, but more of a letting go than a coming together. He wasn't sure he liked it, but to stop kissing her was a physical impossibility for him.

She slid from his lap and stood up, never parting her lips from his, and pulled him by his tie back towards his bedroom. He wanted so badly to stop again and ask if something was wrong, but he knew to do so would be a blatant display of suspicion, and he didn't want to offend or upset her. After all, it was their first real date. Still, it didn't seem right that it should feel as awkward as their first meeting.

She lied him down on the bed and proceeded in peeling off his clothes, rather aggressively marking her role as the dominant one, tonight. Whatever was in the air between them, it was about her, not him. He would be happy to let her have her way with him- be the shield and sword, for tonight, that she used to fight away her demons. It was becoming increasingly evident that that was what she was doing.

As soon as they were both naked, she kneeled above him and lowered herself onto him, leaving no time for foreplay. He noticed, dejectedly, that she hadn't even looked him in the eye first. His body went limp and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, submitting to the fact that they would not be making love tonight. This was fucking.

The only intimacy between them existed in his hands positioned on her thighs, but even they seemed to be growing inversely colder as their movements sped and their body temperatures rose. As she climaxed, he felt his body follow in suit, but his heart was not in it. The last thing he noticed before his head started spinning was that her hands had been clutching the headboard the entire time. She hadn't touched him once.

When it was over, she did not collapse ontop of his chest, as usual, but instead rolled quickly to her side of the bed and burried her face in the pillow. 'That's better than turning her back to me,' Ross considered, but the weak effort at self-solace ultimately did little to throttle the sting of rejection.

He spooned up beside her and rested his hand on her back, almost surprised to find her skin warm and sticky with sweat. Somehow, he'd expected it to be uncharacteristically clamy. Maybe because that's what she was being.

"Rachel..." be whispered, even venturing a small kiss between her shoulder blades. When she did not wince or pull away, he took that as a positive sign and even dared to rest his cheek on her back. Ever so slightly, she turned her head towards him and nodded.

"I know," she sighed back. "I'm sorry."

"Is there something I should know?"

Silence.

"Rachel?"

"Can we talk about it in the morning?" she asked. Ah, confirmation. That last dying, shred of hope that maybe her detachment had all been in his head was now lying beaten and torn on the bed beside him. Something really was the matter.

"Should I be worried?" Too late.

"No," she insisted. To emphasize this, she craned her neck forward and kissed his shoulder. His heart skipped a beat. It was the first real sign of genuine affection she'd shown in hours. He couldn't doubt her when she did things like that. She was his biggest weakness.

"Okay."

And just like that, he agreed to wait patiently until morning. He'd wait forever for her.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO


	10. Chapter 10

Ross turned over in his sleep, the faint pattering of rain distantly audible against a window pane behind a bed that wasn't his. Forcing his eyes open, he was met with the realization of something that would have been potentially devastating had he not anticipated itaccepted it, even.

The space beside him was empty. Closing his eyes again and exhaling deeply, he smacked his hand against the vacant space and rolled over on his back. He wasted only a few moments staring up at the ceiling in self pity, replaying last night's events over on the reel in his mind, before rising from the bed and gathering his clothes on the floor. He winced when he realized how tangibly familiar this scenario feltby himself, collecting cold yet sweaty clothes off a stranger's floor in the wee hours of the morning. The distinguishable difference this time, however, was that the girl was no stranger and he wished he was not alone.

He padded down the stairs to the living room, and would have been embarrassed to meet Erica sitting on the couch. He was naked from the waist up, clad only in a stark white sheet, but he felt so sedately numb that he could not care.

"Hi," the pretty girl greeted, smiling consolingly, as if she really understood the confusion and heartache surrounding his predicament. He smiled weakly in return, turned to his right and retreated into the downstairs bathroom.

When he emerged, as close to the term 'dressed' as one could be in wrinkled garments from the night before, he stood in awkward silence before the girl. He was used to uncomfortable morning afters with the woman he'd slept with. This, however, had had never anticipated. Erica sensed his vulnerability and distress.

"She, uh, just stepped out for a little while. You know...work or something," she offered. When Ross glanced down at his wrist watch, she knew she'd been beaten.

"Work at 7 on a Saturday?" he challenged. He shouldn't have, though. Whatever last night was about was between them. Erica was only trying to make him feel better. "Sorry," he immediately apologized. "Look, I'm just, uh, gonna go."

"Ross," she called out, his hand already on the front doorknob. Wow, she'd never called him by name before. Part of him thought she never even knew it. He turned to face her.

"Don't worry too much, okay? I mean, you know, about Rachel." It was a simple gestureone that would have perhaps fallen short in another situation, with another man, in another apartment, on another morning. This time, though...it made him smile.

"Thanks," he nodded.

And with that, he left Rachel's apartment for what could have been the last time.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Ross sat on the front stoop of his building late in the afternoon with his laptop perched upon his knees. The wind ruffled his hair, fall's dying multicolored leaves blew unsystematically through the streets, and the far-off sounds of children playing before supper could be heard. He glanced up from the screen and it's daunting, blinking cursor, surveying his neighborhood.

It was nice, he considered, in an effortlessly charming sort of way. The buildings were old, to put it gently, burnt and discolored with the anguish of time, especially Manhattan time, when nothing seems to just stand still or stay evenwhere even the wind must have some undistinguishable color or force that sandpapers the aliveness from the corners of the brick buildings like a dog rubbing against a table's leg. The clotheslines running across the streets, some 10 stories upa network of lower middleclass memoirsreminded him, unsettlingly, of his mother's disheartened generation.

All in all, really, the scene could have only been completed by the smallest and subtlest of romantic gestureslike a 12-year-old paper boy cycling through on his daily schedule, or a displaced, whitewashed ice cream truck rolling through, attracting behind it a trail of excited children like a metal to a magnet.

Or a staggeringly beautiful girlearly twenties, at the mostappearing seemingly from nowhere with a heartbreaking look of puzzlement and distress painted across her face.

Ross would have been surprised if he had noticed her right away, but he stared at her for a good 10 secondsright through her, ratherbefore realizing the magnitude of the situation. It was like he couldn't quite place her face but was afraid to admit it, like one might do with a familiar-looking stranger they encounter in the grocery store. Finally, it registered with himhitting him full force, like a blow to the stomachand he felt himself unwinding, a bit.

"Uh...hi," he tendered, his voice low and soft.

"Hi," she smiled warmly, unknowingly melting his heart into a wilted puddle.

Silence.

"So, um, what are you...I mean, do you want to come upstairs?" he asked, pointing back over his shoulder to the front door of the building.

"Sure, yeah." She jumped at the offer, immediately propelling herself forward, like each moment standing on the sidewalk below him was physically excruciating and she was desperate to relieve the gut-wrenching pain.

Ross fumbled with the key both to the front door and, once upstairs, to his apartment like a nervous college student bringing a girlno, not just any girl, the head cheerleaderback to his room for the first time. Ironic, he thought, considering how disappointingly dissimilar this situation actually is from that one.

Once they actually entered the apartment, Ross threw the keys, just like every time before, on the counter to his right and proceeded into the living room. Just like almost every time before, he overreached the extension and the keys slid across the slick wood and landed on the floor. Rachel closed the door behind her and stood awkwardly in the foyer, unsure of whether or not she should follow him into the living room. That was, after all, an indicator of the point of no return; entering the heart of the apartment, that is. That was a commitmentno turning back after taking a seat beside him on that sofa. Therefore, she dawdled by the door.

She looked around the place. Though it had only been a little over a week since she'd last been there, it seemed worlds apart from the apartment she'd once known. It looked like a hurricane had hit itdishes piled high in the sink, magazines and junk mail littering the table, empty pizza boxes and Chinese take-out containers spread about the kitchen and living room.

"Wow, I love what you've done with the place," she tried to lighten the mood, stepping unsurely away from the front door and closer to the main room. As Ross cleared some text books and DVDs off the couch onto the coffee table to make a seat for himselfat this point, only for himselfhe couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah, I did it myself." He took a seat but turned to face her. To her surprise, he did not look surprised at the distance between them or her hesitancy. He did not look expectant. He just looked.

She noticed at that moment how disheveled he looked. His physical demeanor was almost unrecognizable, and his wardrobe was nothing like the fashionable, metrosexual ties and suits he normally darned. His eyes were darkeraggressive and hardand a rough five o'clock shadow shaded the lower half of his face. His hair was messy, his shirt unbuttoned and un-tucked, a wrinkled white undershirt visible underneath, and paint-stained khakis hanging loosely from his hips. He looked like a 19-year-old college boy around exam time, not an almost-27-year-old paleontologist. He felt her eyes studying himknew she was just now seeing the broken surrender in him. He could have easily thrown her a coldhearted, bitter stare that would have almost audibly said 'look at what you've done to me'...but he didn't.

"So why are you here?" he finally asked, biting the bullet. He could tell he had thrown her a bit off guard, but it wasn't his job to keep her on balance. Just look what she had done to him.

"I, um, felt bad," she admitted. She had taken the bait. She was delving in, too, refusing to beat around the bush. Her glance was still drawn down, though, and she still stood nervously and unsure.

"About what?" he almost spat. He hadn't intended for it to come out that harshly. At this, she looked up at him.

"About last weekend," she answered, her voice raising to meet his, painted with a confidence, now, that had been lacking before. This could easily turn into a yelling match. "About the way things..." She didn't want to say itwas afraid to. He wasn't.

"Ended?" he asked, coldly.

"No," she insisted, shaking her head. "No, not ended."

"Then what was it?" he demanded, standing up and placing his hands on his hips. "I mean, Jesus, Rachel, you fuck me when it's obvious you're about 1,000 miles away, you leave me hanging, then you're gone when I wake up! If that's not an ending, I don't know what is!"

"Hey, that is UNFAIR!" she yelled, pointing her finger accusingly had him. "You don't know the FIRST thing about what was going through my mind when"

"Then TELL me!" he plead, stepping away from the couch and towards her in the entrance hall. He stood directly in front of her, his face close to hers, his voice commanding. "Tell me what happened, because I don't have a clue, Rachel!"

She stared back at him with equal intensity, hers eyes searching his. It was obvious she was reckoning things out with herself. She'd debated over talking to him for almost a week, now, and it hadn't been fair to him. She'd all but disappeared from his life, which she knew must have been terrifying for him, as it was terrifying for her and she was the one doing it. Even an innuendothe faintest of indicationsto the end of this was scarring.

Finally, she took a breath and jumped.

"Ross, I'm leaving," she deadpanned, no emotion coloring her voice or her face, save a small tear threatening to well up in the corner of her eye.

"What?"

"I've been offered a job in California. I'm supposed to move out at the end of the week."

Silence. His face was stoicemotionless, as if he hadn't even heard her. Then came the reaction, seemingly unprovoked.

"Well then why didn't you fucking say something?" he demanded. She winced at the harshness of his words and tone.

"Ross, I didn't want to"

"Oh, didn't want to what? Hurt me? Well, I think it's a little too late for that, now, Rachel!"

"Come on, Ross! What was I supposed to say? I don't even know what this is! This thing between us, it's...it doesn't even make any sense, Ross!"

"Why does it have to make sense?" he challenged, turning back around the face her. "Just because it's not 'normal', or-or-or 'easy' DOESN'T mean it's not real! That it doesn't mean something!"

"Look, I KNOW it means something! Why do you think I was so afraid to say something?"

Ross went back over to the couch and sat down, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands. Rachel followed and stood before him, not wanting to sit for fear that their bodies might brush against one another and the unbearably fiery contact might break her.

"Ross..." She said his name softly and calmly, letting it roll off her tongue disguised as a statement and not the probing weight that it was.

No answer.

"Ross, please," she begged, her voice softening even more. "I didn't plan this..."

"No, but you want it," he finally spoke, lifting his head to face her, his words calm but accusing.

"What?"

"You want the job, don't you? I mean, that's why you're here. To say goodbye."

"Well, what do you want from me, Ross? Huh?" she demanded, crossing her arms defensively, raising her voice again. "I mean, what am I supposed to do? I've been waiting for this kind of opportunity for 5 years. Am I just supposed to throw it out the window because some guy I"

She cut herself off. She hadn't meant for it to come out that callously. It wasn't fair for her to oversimplify it this way. It wasn't fair to make him believe he was really just 'some guy'. It sure would be a lot easier if she could believe that, though. It was too late. He'd already caught it.

"Some guy, huh?" he asked, inaptly calm and accepting. He smirked. "Well, uh...alright, then," he shrugged, getting up from the couch, brushing past her, and heading for the door.

"Ross, wait," she pleaded, following him. Ignoring her, he placed his hand on the door, opening it and turning expectantly towards her, like a chauffer or a doorman. "What are you doing?" she asked, her tone earnest but weak.

"No," he bit back, the word flying from his mouth like a poisonous dart aimed right between her eyes. He slammed the door right back shut, thinking obviously thinking better of his initial, passive approach. "What are YOU doing?"

They were standing right beside one another, now, in front of the recently-slammed-shut door. His face was so close to hers that she could feel his breath on her cheek. His eyes narrowed in on her and he bit down fiercely, tightening his jaw.

"Ross, please stop making this so hard," she beseeched. She was practically whining, so close to tears.

"Why should I, huh? You certainly weren't concerned with making things easy on ME when you left me laying there alone in your bed that morning. You weren't worried about making things easy when you showed up here, obviously willing and ready to give me the brush-off with no questions asked. So WHY should I make this easy for you?" he implored.

She retreated a little, hoping to compose herself by getting some distance between them. She could smell his aftershave with how close he was, and that wasn't helping her poise. He didn't allowed this, however, stepping closer when she withdrew so that her back was literally against the wall. She felt trapped. Had the man not been Ross, she might have even felt endangered. Neither could deny the sexual undertones of this situationthe passion that backed it, the excitement and even the slight twinge of craze that tinted the heaving of both their chests. Their hands grazed one another at their sides.

"What do you want from me?" she finally asked, and it was the softest, calmest, smoothest whisper he'd ever heard. It was the verbal equivalent of a silk bed sheet.

"Nothing," he whispered back, his voice breathy and low like he was afraid the empty apartment might hear. He shook his head. "I don't want anything from you, Rachel. Just you." She squeezed her eyes closed and exhaled deeply, the intensity of the moment weighing her down. The tears that had been accumulating in the corners of her eyes finally fell, as tears invariably do, sliding down her cheek. With her eyes closed, she felt the pad of his thumb soft against her skin, wiping them away. She opened her eyes.

"Then ask me to stay."

There. She'd said it. What both of them knew had to happenwhat they'd both been waiting for, though neither would have ever admitted it. If he wanted her, he'd have to ask her to stay. He shook his head.

"I can't do that."

Nodding, Rachel closed her eyes once more. Reaching discreetly and effortlessly to her left, she palmed the cold, steel doorknob. She opened her eyes one final time, exhaled deeply, and stared unfalteringly up at him.

"Then I have to say goodbye."

She turned the knob, slid out from under him, and walked out without looking back.

Later that night, Ross sat on his couch with a roll of gauze and a bottle of Vodka, bandaging the broken hand he'd put through the wall after she'd left, and the broken heart she'd left in her wake.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 


	11. Chapter 11

We're in the last stretch, guys. I'm only predicting 1 more chapter after this one. Hope you've enjoyed it. 

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

5 Days Later...Thursday

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Carver busted through the front door of the apartment with a vengeance, cursing under his breath and throwing his suitcase down in the middle of the living room.

"Goddamn fucking delayed flight. Rainstorms my ass," he murmured coldly, shaking his head and tossing his keys onto the coffee table. He didn't even look up at Ross, who'd been sitting on the sofa this whole time, watching his enraged roommate's little episode unfold. Instead, Carver proceeded over to the sink in the kitchen.

"You alright?" Ross called.

"Yeah," he shouted back, over the running faucet. The clinking and clanking of glassware and pans could be heard, intermingled in the commotion. "My flight out of Denver just got delayed like 3 fucking hours. Why my whole goddamn family decided to move to California, I'll never know. It's hotter than balls out there."

He emerged from the kitchen looking visibly stressed out, his hair on end and his shirt hanging untidily out one side of his pants. He was gulping a glass of water with one hand on his hip, his Adam's Apple bobbing.

"All that for a glass of water?" Ross asked. Carver chose to ignore his question.

"So how have you been, man?" he instead inquired. Ross shrugged.

"Alright," Ross muttered, turning his gaze down and reaching for the remote in hopes of progressing from the topic of 'how he'd been'. The last thing he wanted to talk about was 'how he'd been'. Carver looked skeptical.

"No way, man, something's up. I can tell. What happened?"

Ross sighed. He didn't have the energy for this--he really didn't. His mind hadn't been freed from this unremitting, frenzied downward spiral of depression and desperation for days; 5, to be exact--the number since he'd last seen her. He'd only changed his clothes or showered once, and even that had been over 48 hours ago. He was sitting before his roommate in a pair of torn, faded black sweat pants and a stretched-out, stained undershirt. He hadn't shaved in over a week. His hair was spiked with the greasy sweat of apathy.

And his hand was bandaged.

Did it really look to Carver like he wanted to talk about 'how he'd been'? Before he had to answer, though, his friend did it for him.

"It's Rachel, isn't it?"

Ross was a bit taken aback by Carver's use of her first name. In the months since he'd met her, he'd only ever heard his friend refer to Rachel as 'that girl' or 'some chick'. 'Great,' he thought. 'He learns her name as soon as she leaves. How appropriate.' Instead of voicing his snarky cynicisms, however, Ross averted his eyes and nodded, gulping hard.

"Yeah..." he trailed off, pausing dramatically, not even knowing himself if he was going to finish. He did. "She's leaving."

"What do you mean 'she's leaving'?" Carver asked, half from confusion and half from disbelief. Ross looked at him, agitated to even be having this conversation, and even more so that Carver was obviously intent on dragging out ever heartbreaking detail for all it was worth.

"What do you mean, 'what do I mean'? I mean she's leaving! She got a better job offer in California. She might as well already be gone," he scornfully huffed, crossing his arms and shaking his head. This conversation was giving him a migraine. And that was even before his roommate dared make the harshest, most gruesome, disconnect gesture possible for a situation like this...

Carver laughed. It was actually more like a disbelieving, condescending chuckle. Shaking his head, he rolled back on his heels. Ross looked up at him with incredulity. Who was this man? Was he really laughing?

"Hey, what's so goddamn funny?" Ross asked harshly, the words coming out edgy, like a bark. He clenched his jaw, prepared to punch him if need be. Something inside him was contracting...pulsing...buckling. He was fucking laughing!

"I just don't get you, man! I mean, here you are, a bigger mess than I've ever seen you--including when you _divorced_ Carol--and what is it all for? Some girl you barely even know!"

"But I _do_ know her, Carver! And you don't _have_ to get it! I'm not asking you to get it! She's...she's..."

"What is she?" his roommate asked sarcastically. "Because I'll tell you what she's not! She's not worth all this bullshit you've been putting yourself through forever! Yeah, she's hot as shit, and she 'understands' you or whatever, but she's just some _girl_!"

Ross thought about punching him. Not seriously--the sentiment was only there for a fraction of a second before miscarrying in a bloody death of defeat. He'd barely had enough time to form a first before he'd unclenched and his shoulders had dropped. He plopped back down onto the couch, seemingly overcome. But he was not. He was simply just not going to waste anymore time even pretending to try and make this man understand--understand the icy, empty void of this love. Of her love. In a way, Ross felt sorry for him. He'd never know.

Sensing he'd crossed some sort of boundary, Carver came to sit beside his roommate on the couch.

"Look, I'm sorry, man. I just hate seeing you like this over something I can't understand." Ross nodded.

"You're right; you don't understand."

"Fair enough," Carver nodded.

Silence.

"So what are you going to do?"

"What do you mean, 'what am I going to do'? I'm not going to do anything! This is her life! This is what makes her happy!"

"Huh, that's funny," Carver stated simply, "I thought you were what made her happy." Ross looked over at his roommate in utter disbelief. "Yeah, that's right," Carver continued. "I'm not completely heartless." Ross smiled before turning his attention back down into his lap.

"It doesn't matter. I can't interfere with her life."

"Wow..." Carver muttered, leaning back on the sofa and shaking his head.

"What?"

"Nothing...I just never thought I'd live to see the day when Ross Geller-- romantic extraordinaire-- would let a girl just walk away without a fight."

Ross didn't know what to say. Carver was right. He wasn't an aggressive guy, or even an especially impressive one, but he was competitive and he didn't like to loose, especially when it came to women. Especially when it came to this woman. In all honesty, he couldn't really see himself just rolling over and giving in. He'd never been able to do it before, and all those times seemed like insignificant scrimmages in comparison with this one.

"It's just too big, you know? I mean...it's her whole life. It's her future."

"Maybe this is bigger," Carver mused. "Maybe _you_ could be her future."

Maybe...

Carver exited in silence, patting his friend once on the back before retrieving his suitcase and disappearing into his room, leaving a very confused, unmoving Ross alone in the dark on the sofa.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Well, that's the last of it," Rachel announced, stranding up and rubbing her lower back from being bent over and carrying so many boxes all day. "All packed." She sighed with relief, but also noticeable disappointment. Erica perceived this, and immediately understood. She came to stand beside her friend in the middle of the now-empty, desolate bedroom.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, rubbing Rachel's back. Trying her best to look confused, but failing, Rachel shrugged.

"For what? I don't know what you're talking about."

"I know you wanted him to come," Erica admitted. Rachel sighed and shook her head.

"God, I hate the way things ended between us. I just--I can't _imagine_ never seeing him again, you know? I don't...I don't know," she finally confessed, sitting down on the floor beside the last, lonely box.

"What don't you know?" Erica encouraged, taking a seat beside her. Rachel held out her hands in confusion, shrugging dramatically in her patented Rachel way.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do! I mean, what're you supposed to do in a situation like this? I either stay here with him--this guy who, really, when you think about it, I've only actually known for, like, a few months--and lose what could possibly be the best career move of my life...or I go...and lose the one person I might actually am supposed to be with." Hanging her shoulders in defeat, Rachel looked down at the floor and shook her head. "There's no right answer, you know?"

"I know," Erica agreed, nodding. "But maybe that's the point."

"What?" Rachel asked, wincing her eyes, confused. How could that be the point?

"I just mean maybe this is supposed to be the first really adult decision you have to make. You're 25. It's not high school anymore, you know? This--this could be it."

"Oh, well, that's very reassuring, thank you," Rachel quipped sarcastically.

"Sorry, it's the truth. It usually sucks. You don't have to like it; you just have to accept it."

"I do?" Rachel rhetorically whined, wrinkling her nose and pouting. She laid her head in her hands and sighed, running her fingers through her hair. "God, this is impossible."

"Well, maybe you wont have to decide," Erica offered, rubbing her back.

"What do you mean? Of course I do! No matter what I do, I'll be making a decision. I'll be giving something _huge_ up."

"Maybe he'll make the decision for you..."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

End Chapter 11. RESOLVED in Chapter 12.


	12. Chapter 12

Alright, guys, last chapter. Thanks for staying with it for so long. Hope it was worth it. 

This chapter Rated R.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Rachel stood alone in the center of the empty room. It was a pretty room, she considered. Hardwood floors, big windows, walk-in closet...not too shabby at all for the $700 a month she'd been paying for so long to live in the Village.

Ah, the Village. She walked towards the big window where the shade was drawn and lifted it, admitting a cascade of the afternoon's dying rays into the room, like they'd been waiting all day at the sill, begging to be let in. She glared down at the sidewalk several stories below. The setting sun cast heavy shadows across all the passers-by's faces, and a light wind ruffled the trees. She was really going to miss this place.

That wasn't all she was going to miss.

If she were being honest with herself, she hadn't really gone to the window to people-watch one last time. She'd gone in search of something--of someone. She'd crossed the room with high hopes of some quintessential, storybook, Neverland ending that, all along, she'd known wouldn't come. Since when was anything about her life storybook?

Not true. Everything about her life had been storybook for the past 6 months. It had all been so flawlessly fairytale, in fact, that it easily made up for all the 23 predeceasing years, in all their lacking. This was just going to be one fairytale without an ending.

Maybe it was better this way, she thought, an absentminded tear rolling down her cheek, the presence of which she was not aware. Maybe Dylan Thomas was wrong, and it WAS better to go gentle into the night--to die quietly with dignity, rather than explode for one last time into a heart-wrenching ball of raging fire. Maybe all those painstaking last goodbyes are better left unsaid. At least that way you'd remember the person for their moments of solidity, and not for that final, awkward fumbling of meaningless gestures.

But human beings are masochistic by nature. Their craving for melodrama and heartbreak and pain is so innately ingrained--so finely instinctive-- that they cannot possibly will themselves to do the healthy, rational thing when it comes to any matter of the heart. They can't even sincerely WANT the healthy, rational thing. They want the romance. They want the passion. They want the fire--even if it will most certainly burn them. They cannot help it. It's reflexive. It's...human.

So, for that very reason, she did not cast the blinds one last time, turn from the window and flee the room. Instead, Rachel collapsed against the wall and slid all the way down to the floor, leaning her back against the cool plaster and holding her face in her hands.

The healthy, rational thing just took too much strength--something she had no more of. He'd taken the last of it with him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

He sat alone at the end of the bar, his head hung low and his eyes averted. The place was seedy, with dense smoke polluting and the bitter stench of alcohol polluting the air, even at 6 p.m. Big guys with tattoos and facial hair belched and cursed around a pool tables near the back, which widowers and 30-year-old virgins congregated at the bar, each in his own isolated, self-deprecating lull. The man who fit none of those categories--the one at the end of the bar--gripped his scotch in one hand and starred down at the cigarette burns on the waxy counter.

Ross hated the way cigarettes smelled, and, really, the way alcohol tasted, but he secretly loved the way both burned his lungs and numbed him. He'd been there since 5, and was sufficiently buzzed, but had no intentions of stopping the masochistic intake of poisons into his bloodstream until 9 p.m.

Until takeoff.

At which point, he planned on stumbling out to the street corner, tossing a debasing few dollars in the way of one of the hard girls who worked this side of town, and taking her back to his place, where he could fulfill the only cardinal sin he hadn't already taken care of today.

He knew he wouldn't do it, though. He'd only end up picturing her, like he did every morning when he got off in the shower, and while that act was sickeningly degrading enough, he just couldn't bring himself to associate her in any way with a hooker, even if it was only to dull the pain. Nothing was worth tarnishing this ideal he'd built up in his mind of her. It was all he had left. Even being the unassuming, shy, gentle man he was, he knew he could slit a man's throat for disrespecting her. Even if the man was him.

He stared up at the clock behind the bar. 6:32 p.m. Two and a half hours to go.

He laid his head against the bar.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"So I guess this is really it, huh?" Erica asked, a hint of unsteadiness in her voice. She rubbed her roommate's shoulders. "I'm really going to miss you, babe."

"Oh, I'm really going to miss you, too," Rachel admitted, wrapping her arms around her friend. "I don't know what I would have done without you these past few months."

"Months?" Erica teased, provoking a smile from Rachel, which looked out of place against the backdrop of tears running down her red cheeks.

"Okay, years."

"So you're really going to do this, huh?" Erica asked abruptly. Rachel only wished she was a better actress, so she could at least pretend to not know what Erica was referring to.

"What do you mean?" she asked weakly. Erica rolled her eyes.

"Don't start. You know what."

"Look, Erica, I've got to start making more adult decisions. Everything I've done up until now in my life has been because I wanted it. I need to do this because I _need_ it."

"And I respect that," Erica confessed, wiping a tear from her friend's cheek. "It just seem to me like 'this' is all you need."

"I don't need him," Rachel lied, saying 'him' and finally ending this game of illusive double-speak they'd been playing.

"Whatever you say, babe," Erica whispered, shaking her head and hugging Rachel again. This time, Rachel gripped Erica more tightly and buried her face in her shoulder. Her whole body shook with her sobs.

The suitcases in her hands dropped to the floor.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"I'm cutting you off," the husky man cleaning shot glasses behind the counter grunted. Ross merely nodded, not having the strength to argue with the man. The truth was, it was only 7 p.m. and he honestly wasn't that drunk, yet, but a few more shots weren't worth a potential bar fight with a man twice his size.

He threw a few bills down on the counter and nodded at the bartender before pushing off his stool and standing to put on his jacket. He didn't stumble. Good sign.

He pushed the door open into the dark, dingy ally, smoke rising around him from the gutters. The cool air stung his face at first, but then felt nice, his slight five o'clock shadow shielding his skin a bit. With his hands stuffed into his pockets, he climbed the stained, concrete stairs up to the street, blending in with the heavy traffic of a New York sidewalk in early evening. He briefly considered finding another, equally sleazy bar, but the novelty of the idea lost its appeal after he realized he didn't want to be drunk tonight. He wanted to remember every moment of this evening--every painstaking, heartbreaking, gut-wrenching, vile moment. He wanted to remember the taste of the bile in the back of his throat. He wanted to remember the way the looming tears never stopped stinging his eyes.

He wanted to remember everything about the night she left. Always.

Finding a bench amidst the crowds of people, he sat down alone, facing the storefronts of SoHo. He watched the women with their children rushing in and out of high-class stores, buying things they didn't really need with money they didn't really have, their faces beaming with pride to even enter some of the classier stores. Ross knew they were probably hoping people were watching them. At least he was.

He watched the fathers carrying sons on their shoulders, laughing and joking like old buddies; 11-year-old boys pretending to sucker-punch their little brothers; babies asleep in strollers; teenagers out on dates, content to stroll hand-in-hand for hours, letting their hearts pound and their palms sweat without ever really going anywhere or doing anything.

Through the hundreds of passers-by, his eyes eventually settled on one couple in particular. They were standing in an alcove under an overhang a few stores down. They were leaning against the glass pane of a store that was currently "Closed for Renovations", the girl standing with her back to his chest, and the boy's arms wound around her waist. They looked no more than 20, stylish and confident--NYU students, no doubt. The girl's hair was long and golden--flowing--while the boy was a bit taller with dark features.

They were staring right back at him.

Ross felt awkward at first, looking around him to make sure it wasn't someone behind or beside him they were making eye contact with him. Once he realized it wasn't--that it was him they were looking at--into--a calmness washed over him and he smiled back. Then they smiled. It was quite bizarre, Ross thought, but...nice. They'd been people-watching, too, he realized, the same as him. They hadn't been so busy like all the rest--looking desperately for overpriced food or knick-knacks to fill their apartments with. They'd merely been there...together.

And they'd sought him out, as if to tell him something.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Erica glanced up at the clock on the kitchen wall. 7:27 p.m.

She filled the glass with water and returned to the living room, placing it on the coffee table before her stoic friend. She knew that, realistically, Rachel should have left for the airport about half-an-hour ago. When she'd let her go after sobbing into her arms, though, she'd simply sat down on the couch, composing herself.

She hadn't moved or spoken in almost an hour.

"Rachel?" Erica beseeched quietly, not wanting to break the silence for fear that it might subsequently break something in her. Rachel looked up at her cautiously through tear-stained eyes. "Honey, it's almost 7:30. If you want to make your flight, you really need to be going."

There. She'd totally left the ball in her court. She'd strategically added "if you want to" to give her total control over the situation. She didn't have to if she didn't want to. And they both knew what Rachel wanted.

Much to Erica's surprise, though, her roommate nodded and stood.

"Yeah, you're right," she whispered, her voice raspy from crying.

Erica helped her gather her things from the floor. She wouldn't push the issue anymore. This was it. She knew her friend, and if she was going to do this, she was going to do it. There would be no more second-guessing or second chances.

The girls hugged again, but said nothing this time, knowing everything had already been said and words were no longer adequate between them. They'd lived together for 3 years. They knew what was implied.

As Rachel crossed the apartment to the door, Erica close behind her, she paused and turned back right before reaching the door.

"Hey, Erica, will you tell--" she almost managed, and both girls knew what she'd meant to say. But she never finished, and both girls also knew why. Turning back towards the door like a death row inmate before her executioner, Rachel winced and bit her lip, knowing it would only take a few more steps before she'd be past the point of no return. On the one hand, these last few steps across the linoleum were silly. On the other...they were the hardest thing she'd ever had to do.

She gripped the metal doorknob in her hand, flashbacks plaguing her mind from over a week ago when she'd gripped another doorknob and uttered those pivotal words.

Then I have to say goodbye.

And now she did.

She took one last deep breath and turned the handle. Something stopped her from exhaling, freezing her dead in her tracks.

A knock.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

There are a handful of moments in everybody's life that, in hindsight, somehow managed to interrupt time, halting it in a suspended dream. First kisses, last dances, wedding vows, funeral requiems...

That fateful knock on a door you'd thought had been shut forever.

To say she was surprised to see him was not entirely accurate. More like a deep relief for something expected but unsure. Like a reaffirmation. Like a validation. Like a coming home.

It was not like a scene from a movie. He did not immediately take her face in his hands, throw her against the wall and kiss her with every fiber of his being. He did not have some pre-rehearsed love sonnet to recite, expressing everything he was feeling, linearly and poetically, down to a T. He didn't even have flowers.

All he had was his gaze locked powerfully on her, and hers back on him, in a visual game on chess.

Checkmate.

Without word or commotion, Erica retreated quietly back to her room, giving the two their privacy.

"What--what are you--"

"I don't know," he splurged, cutting her off.

She nodded. It was now 7:45, but neither of them knew it. Neither cared. She was gripping the side of the door in her fingers, holding it only half-open, still feeling guarded and unsure about his presence here--about what it meant.

"I don't know if it's such a good idea for you to come in," she admitted.

"I didn't ask," he retaliated.

More silence. More staring. She could say he shouldn't come in all she wanted, but the fact was it had been almost 2 minutes now, and she hadn't dared close the door on him. Then, it happened.

He stepped closer to her. For a split second, she thought he was going to kiss her, and though she didn't know how she felt about that, her body obviously did, as she didn't move away. When he brought his lips to her ear, though, and not to her mouth, she was confused. She closed her eyes, feeling the heat of his proximity radiating between them. His chest was pressed up right against her breasts, his hands just barely grazing the sides of her legs, his head cocked down so she could feel his warm breath in her ear.

One word to change both their lives forever.

"_Stay_."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Everything after that was a bit of a blur until morning. Ross still had the slight buzz going, and Rachel's own high was setting in from the scent of his cologne.

As soon as he'd uttered the word--maybe even simultaneously-- she'd wrapped her arms around his neck and had begun assault to his lips with hers. His reaction was immediately, too, his hands going to her waist like a reflex and their bodies coordinating to stumble back into the apartment.

His hands had roamed beneath her ass to pick her up and carry her up the stairs to her empty bedroom, neither coherent enough to be concerned with Erica being home to hear them. Certainly neither of them concerned with the plane that was taking off as they undressed one another.

Her delicate fingers had worked diligently at his zipper and the buttons of his shirt as she'd kneeled before him on the floor, the pace a perfect combination of neediness and a slow, willing relinquishment of one to the other.

He'd kneeled over her naked, stretched out body on the bed for a while, licking, biting and kissing the slopes and crevices of her toned, silky skin--enjoying the drawn-out taste and smell and sight of her for a while, and knowing it was for eternity.

They'd made love lazily and easily, for what seemed like hours, moving at some point from the center of the room to the window, stirring in and out of one another, sometimes in slow, idle circles and at other times with almost violent thrusts that caused both to emit sounds of pleasure they'd never thought possible before.

Both remembered vaguely some point during the middle when he'd pulled out of her long enough to stand and hold her in his arms, reentering with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist and his hands supporting her beneath her ass. It had begun to rain through the darkness of midnight, and he'd pressed her back against the cool window pane, watching the droplets slide down the glass as he moved divinely in and out of her. He'd licked her shoulder, then her neck, and finally kissed her mouth, moving his tongue in circles around hers with a heavenly laziness. Then, he'd uttered the only words either of them would say for the rest of the night.

"I love you," he whispered.

"Always," she'd confirmed.

And that had been enough.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

They fell asleep that night spooned together beneath a thin blanket on the floor of her vacant bedroom. With her back to his chest and his arms wrapped protectively around her middle, they faced the window and gazed silently out over the blackened city until they both fell asleep.

**THE END**


End file.
